Forging of Bonds
by Trollmela
Summary: AU, Achilles/Paris slash, mpreg. To end the war caused by his brother, Paris is forced to marry Achilles but the warrior soon follows the call of another battle. A conspiracy at home forces Paris to go and warn Achilles himself. An Odyssey ensues.
1. Forging of Bonds

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Title: Forging of Bonds

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine.

Summary: Deiphobus steals Helen and war breaks out. In an effort to seal a peace contract Paris is married off to Achilles.

**Warnings: AU, Slash, mpreg**

Pairing: Achilles/Paris

Thanks go to my beta BalianSword for doing such a thorough job and a lot of polishing; any remaining mistakes are mine. I'd also like to thank the lovely Ms McM who has been a great help and hit- I mean encouraged me.

Edited and reposted: July 28, 2009.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Forging of Bonds**

"That's it?" Agamemnon asked, shrugging one shoulder carelessly, clearly unimpressed.

The Trojans exchanged dark looks. In their opinion, the king's daughters were of great beauty. The fact that the Greeks remained unfazed and continued rejecting Troy's generous offers annoyed them greatly.

"Well, there is one more ..." Deiphobus trailed off, but his gaze went to the ceiling, and the Trojans realized whom he meant.

"No! Absolutely not!" Hector jumped up, protesting loudly.

"Why? It is a reasonable option." Deiphobus raised challengingly an eyebrow.

"Care to tell us what you are talking about?" Nestor, the oldest Greek representative inquired.

Priam seemed to have been able to follow Deiphobus' thoughts and - so far - had not opposed the alternative.

"There is one other—my youngest son."

Agamemnon sent him an amused look. "A male companion is not what we are looking for in marriage."

"Not even if this male has the gift of Hermaphroditos?" Deiphobus implored defiantly.

"What are you talking about?" Odysseus inquired.

"The gift of childbearing," Deiphobus answered triumphantly.

Stunned silence followed.

"Who is he?" Agamemnon hesitantly questioned.

"No! I will not allow this!" Hector bellowed, still on his feet.

"Hector!" Priam warned and Hector quieted. "His name is Paris and he is about 19 summers old."

"How does his fertility show? Is there proof?" Odysseus inquired.

"There is no outward difference other than slightly broader hips but his insides differ. It can be easily confirmed."

The Greeks looked contemplatively at each other. Finally, Nestor uttered, "Bring him," and Hector went.

Prince Paris was beautiful and even Agamemnon, who had no taste for men or boys had to admit such. He was also a true child of Aphrodite and it did not surprise anyone that one such as he was to have received the gift of the goddess' son and his lover.

Prince Paris wore a chiton and its fabric fell from his shoulders snugly to his hips, which were, as Priam had said, slightly broader than usual, and then down to his knees. The blue cloth seemed to caress his skin, falling over the prominent curve of his buttocks and showing the young prince's figure without revealing too much.

He walked at his brother's arm with his eyes and head slightly lowered in what seemed to be a demeaning manner that almost screamed for a protector. His brother Hector took that role for now. The crown-prince did not like subjecting his youngest and most vulnerable brother to the presence of those Greeks and his grim face was set in stone. If somebody had glanced at Paris' expression they would have seen his embarrassment at being put on display and a hidden fire in his eyes which he shared with his older brothers.

Paris' upbringing had been very different than that of Priam's other sons and daughters. Having spent his first 16 years away from the walls of Troy he had come to the capital unusually late. Any other son would long have started his weapons training but as soon as Paris' ability was found out, he was separated. Priests mainly dictated his education, he was hardly left alone and his virginity was firmly guarded for the one who would eventually take him … as what? That had been one of the big questions. Was he to be a man's catamite or a husband equal to a wife? Was he to learn of the pleasures of the flesh before his union or sent to a bed unprepared? In the end, it had been decided by both advisors and priests that Troy would benefit the most of an influential marriage between their prince and another king.

In Paris' opinion Aphrodite had intended a wholly different life for him. The priests gave his words little weight, however, and Paris could only hope that whoever he would be given to would be more attentive to his needs. He was a child of Aphrodite. Sexuality was an element of his life and sometimes, in his dreams, Paris felt as if Dionysus had given him a sprinkle of himself as well. But in waking Paris had never experienced the pleasures of the flesh as he knew he should have. He despised the prospect of waiting for one man to imprison him forever in a lonely chamber only visited when he was to breed. Besides, as far as Paris knew, his ability to bear children would only have effect if he wanted.

Now it looked as if his last moments of imprisonment in one cage had come and he was to be pushed into another. Would it be a Greek cage this time?

Odysseus shifted slightly. He was married but by the Gods, this boy had something that could easily stiffen any man's flesh. Maybe the boy would be the one to seal the contract? But with whom was the next inevitable question!

Odysseus let his eyes wander through the hall and over the faces of the Greek delegation. Agamemnon, he himself, and most of those present were married. Menelaus had lost his wife to the Trojan prince Deiphobus; while the war had been started on her behalf, Odysseus was fairly sure that Menelaus could care less for Helen. It was simply an act to defend his honor. After all, who liked being known as a man whose wife could so easily be stolen out from under his nose? But no, Menelaus did not favor boys and frankly, Odysseus thought that a few years as a bachelor would not harm the Spartan king. So who was left? Ajax? Odysseus did not even want to think about the lithe prince beneath the huge warrior.

The Greek delegation was silently contemplating. While before Agamemnon had always found something against the woman in question he too now had no words to say.

A male capable of bearing children was something that no other kingdom could profess having and would shape that realm's reputation if not only its importance. Odysseus could also imagine that few men would be averse to taking the beautiful prince. But unfortunately, most men were not present in this chamber!

Nestor was finally the one who found his voice first: "With your leave, King Priam, we would like to discuss this matter with each other before making any decision. I suggest a truce of seven days for this. Also we will require definite proof of his fertility."

Priam agreed easily. He was most pleased by the Greeks' reactions.

* * *

Back at the camp Odysseus still pondered about the question of "whom". He found it easier to think when walking so he decided to take a look through the allies' camp and then go along the beach. It was there that he saw Achilles. And he got an idea.

"Tell me, my friend, have you ever thought about marriage?" Odysseus pried.

Achilles raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Has Trojan wine addled your brain?"

Odysseus only smirked at the insult. He was long used to his friend's insolence and it did not bother him anymore.

"Women are good for bearing children and little else," the warrior explained.

"You prefer men."

"I prefer them as I know that they will not give birth to a child nine months later and force fatherhood upon me."

Now Odysseus hesitated. He had no idea how Paris conceived and when.

"Did the Trojans offer their brides?" Achilles scoffed. "I'm not surprised that they are doing it, I'm surprised that Agamemnon is accepting."

"Agamemnon was not averse. Since losing you and the Myrmidons battle has gone badly. Hector, on the other hand, is still strong."

"Hector." Achilles spoke the name with a curious mix of admiration and resentment. The Myrmidon had looked forward to measure his strength against the Trojan Prince's.

"Though the Trojans did not only offer women. Which is why I thought of you."

The blonde's eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"They are offering one of their own boys as a catamite?" Achilles laughed. "Are you sure he's not a prisoner?"

Odysseus snorted. "Believe me, if you had seen him, you would know that he is not a prisoner, at least not in the official sense. I have no doubt though that he has little freedom."

"Now you intrigue me. What's his status?"

"His name is Paris and he is the youngest of the princes. I'm not quite sure what his position would be if he is given to Greece, but I doubt that the Trojans intend for him to become a mere catamite."

Achilles eyebrow rose again.

"A marriage is always between a man and a woman."

"Yes. But Paris is fertile."

Stunned, Achilles let himself drop into the sand across from Odysseus.

"Tell me more."

Odysseus was more than content to give whatever knowledge he had. Maybe this would be a way to reconcile Achilles with Agamemnon, to solve the problem of the Trojan prince and seal the peace contract.

The sun was just setting when Achilles paid a visit to Agamemnon and declared that he wanted to be present at the peace talks. Agamemnon was skeptical but he was also no fool: he, as well as probably everyone in the camp, knew of Achilles' preferences. And if he decided he liked the Trojan prince then all the better.

* * *

The Trojans were doubtful at the next meeting. Paris was not present; instead he was in a separate room shielded by priests and acolytes.

"We want confirmation that the boy is actually capable of bearing children. You said that proof could be provided; so show us," Agamemnon demanded.

The head priest Abdías was aghast. "You cannot possibly suggest that we show his most intimate treasure to every Greek in this room!"

Agamemnon chuckled and gave the man a condescending look. "Of course not. But I do expect that Nestor be present and if Achilles so wishes, since he is the one who expressed interest in the prince, he may have one of his people witness as well."

Abdías threw Achilles a black look. The priests had been looking forward to presenting "their" young prince to an influential king who would treat him as he would a wife and solely couple with him to beget heirs. Achilles, on the other hand, would easily be able to tempt the prince into an unseemly number of sexual encounters. To have one of his Myrmidons check the prince personally would only increase the chances of a marriage between Achilles and Paris.

"I want my cousin, Patroclus, to see the prince," the Myrmidon lord said.

Abdías looked pained and Hector had been wearing a deathly look since the proposal of marriage had been made which only got worse now. Priam, however, proclaimed:

"So be it. Have your cousin brought here."

* * *

Patroclus had almost burst out laughing when Achilles told him about his interest in the marriage alliance and had earned himself a severe black look for this. He had abruptly stopped guffawing once he had realized that Achilles was actually serious.

When the messenger reached him to come into the city and examine the prince, Patroclus was more than eager to go. He was curious to see the famed beauty of Troy who had caught the Greeks' attention and Achilles showed such interest in.

The room that Paris was staying in and in which Nestor and Patroclus met him was furnished with a few low couches, an altar-like stone table and, in the younger Greek's opinion, way too many sheer drapes. It looked like something a virgin girl would be living in and Patroclus realized that this was exactly the way that Prince Paris was kept.

The prince wore a short chiton of soft material that stopped just above his knees and was bound with a cord around his waist. Paris stood up when the two Greeks entered and greeted them by inclining his head silently. Patroclus could easily see how nervous the young prince was. He wrung his hands and there was a light sheen of sweat on his skin.

A priest, who had gone unnoticed by Patroclus, stepped out of a corner and led the prince with a firm grip on his upper arm toward the stone table. A shamed blush reddened the prince's cheeks as he was unclothed before the Greeks' eyes and bade to lie back on the table. The priest's examination was humiliating above all but also painful. Paris' body tensed and his eyes clenched tightly shut.

"Stop!" Patroclus demanded. He understood now the prince's apprehension and wondered whether the young prince had undergone this priest's rough examination before. The priest looked up, surprise and annoyance crossing his face and raised an eyebrow.

"I will do it myself," Patroclus explained and swiftly moved to the oil. The priest did not remove his fingers from Paris' insides but then another man called a halt.  
"Let him," Hector commanded. He stepped away from the door as he added, "and leave us." Hector threw the priest an angry look as the acolyte withdrew his fingers and Paris whimpered. Tears leaked from beneath his eyelids and Hector gripped his brother's hand, hoping that it would calm him.

The priest left and now it was Patroclus turn.

"Don't hurt him," Hector warned.  
"I can hardly do worse than that priest already has," the Greek snorted, "and unlike he, I actually know what to do."

Paris was still much too tense however. Patroclus put a soothing hand on his thigh but it only caused Paris to sob. Immediately Hector pulled the younger prince to him and Paris curled up, weeping against Hector's shoulder. Finally the crown-prince shook his head.

"This won't work at all. I'll tell father to stop this nonsense and leave you alone! I don't care if I have to fight the whole Greek army to protect you!" Hector's voice cracked and he pressed an adoring kiss to his brother's head.

Nestor cleared his throat. "While I respect your love for your brother you should not forget about the bigger picture: this marriage is Troy's best chance of peace with the fewest losses. To hinder the contract now would be folly!"

Hector glared at the older Greek but silently he had to admit that Nestor was right. And Paris had to agree as well.

"He's right, Hector," he sniffed as he backed away and wiped at the tears on his cheek. "It cannot be helped and all I can hope for is the best."

"If Achilles agrees to marry you," Patroclus tried to sooth, "he will treat you well. I can promise you that. He is my cousin and I know him." Paris looked at him and Patroclus smiled. "It will be alright." Taking a deep breath, the young prince nodded. "Alright," he repeated but it was barely more than a whisper.

He went back into his previous position but again he was tense.

"Relax," Patroclus told him. "I will be as careful as I possibly can. Believe me when I tell you that I know what you will feel and what I have to do to make it easy for you."

Paris swallowed visibly. "Have you…?"

"I've had sex with men, yes, and I have been more often on the receiving end than not. So don't worry." Patroclos smiled. "Of course it would be much easier if we had a bed and the actual freedom of foreplay to relax you but I guess we don't have that option here."

Paris laughed weakly and slowly the tension left him. Patroclus hands were working a soothing massage on his legs and hips. While the young Greek's ministrations were less rough as he breached him Hector still held his brother's hand and stroked his shoulder with the other.

Nestor stepped closer "What is he supposed to be looking for?" the Greek advisor asked.

"I think you will need another finger," Paris pressed out.

The examination was uncomfortable but a lot less so than it could have been. Afterwards, Patroclus wiped his hand on a cloth, still stunned speechless.

"Do you need to check him as well?" Hector asked Nestor. It was clear that he would prefer it if the Greek didn't touch his brother.

"No," Nestor conceded, "Patroclus' word will be enough."

Paris breathed a sigh of relief and Hector quickly helped him off the stone table to wash at a nearby basin of rose-scented water.

Nestor turned to leave and Patroclus followed him. He turned back just before exiting:

"I will tell my cousin of you and I will counsel him that he would choose wisely to seal the alliance with you. You needn't worry about anything, Paris, I promise you that."

* * *

"Patroclus has confirmed Prince Paris' fertility," Nestor announced to the expectant Greeks. Achilles' gaze met his cousin's eyes, silently ordering him to elaborate later, when they were in private.

"So the marriage can be arranged?" Priam asked.

"Not so quickly!" Achilles corrected. "I do want to see the prince first and, so far, I haven't agreed to _anything_ yet."

"Paris needs rest," Hector proclaimed as he stepped fully into the room. "He isn't up to it now." The crown-prince stepped impossibly closer to Achilles who was lying lazily on a couch and blatantly refused to feel intimidated by the commanding Trojan.

"Then we will continue this tomorrow," Achilles responded, stood up slowly and left the room with barely a backward glance. Hector was left seething.

* * *

Patroclus followed Achilles back to his tent.

"What is he like?" Achilles rarely wasted time on unnecessary phrases.

"He is very beautiful, a little meek, perhaps. I promised him that I would tell you to marry him."

His cousin raised an eyebrow. "You promised him that?"

A disgusted look crossed Patroclus' face. "You should have seen how the priest treated him! He was much too rough! Hector is trying to protect him but he is General of the Trojan army and not head priest. Paris needs to be removed of the priests' influence." Patroclus smirked suddenly. "And believe me you would not regret it."

"Odysseus already mentioned that Paris is pretty."

The younger Greek snorted. "Pretty is no word for him."

"What about his fertility?"

"He has another opening inside him but the conception still depends on his own wishes and those of Aphrodite. Such is beneficial for you since I doubt that you would want a son right away."

"Why do you not believe that I would want a son? I have fought for a long time. Maybe I think that it is time to have a family now?"  
"That's not true, and you know it. You are still too immature."  
"I am immature?" Achilles asked disbelievingly.  
"Well, you are certainly not ready for family."  
Achilles only snorted.

* * *

On the following day Paris was present right from the beginning, lying in plain view in another revealing garment on an elaborate couch. He barely dared to look up at the famed warrior, but when he did, Achilles gaze nailed him. In curiosity, Paris cocked his head and regarded the blond closely. His heavily muscled form intrigued the slender Trojan.

Priam's advisors and the Greek delegation were agitatedly discussing terms with the priests also interrupting. Paris and Achilles, however, did not take their eyes off each other or participate. Finally, Paris stood up, pushed past a number of acolytes that shielded him and walked right up to the warrior.

"I think we should talk," he said. The room became quiet and his words rang loud and clear in the great hall.

"I agree."

"Alone," Paris added and Achilles nodded.

"My Prince, I do not think that would be prudent…" one of the priests protested but the combined looks of Achilles and Paris quieted him.

"While I do think that you should talk with each other," Hector now picked up, "I am also not pleased with the idea of leaving you alone." He did not add the 'and helpless' but Paris heard it nonetheless.

"We will go into the garden. That way you can see us and we will still have the privacy we need." Paris suggested.

Hector nodded and backed off. Paris only briefly looked to Priam for his permission before he walked outside, Achilles following.

Paris lowered himself heedlessly into the grass and Achilles sat down in front of him.

"I would know why you agreed to this binding," the prince asked. His eyes held steady eye-contact and Achilles had to admit to liking the prince more and more.

"I haven't agreed to anything yet. All I have done is joining the peace talks."

"Even I know that you and Agamemnon had a falling-out. You would not join the talks if there wasn't something for you."

Achilles smirked at the prince's boldness. "I was intrigued."

"Would you consider a marriage or not?" Paris asked plainly.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"I am not ready for a child."

The prince sighted with relief, smiling. "Neither am I."

Now Achilles was at least slightly surprised. He would have thought that someone who had the ability to have children would want them.

Paris glanced back at the palace and the priests within. "I had little influence on my education. I do not think that Aphrodite meant for me to be held to virginity until marriage and then have children. Also I believe that Dionysus might have had a hand in my gift as well."

Achilles laughed. It wasn't malicious or mocking, but expressed his wonderment and his increasing liking of the prince.

"Tell me everything."

And Paris grinned because it was the first time that anybody had asked for his version of the tale. And he told him of how Aphrodite came to him and gave him the gift. And he told of the consequences.

"I have never had a relationship. You will have to teach me many things and I do not wish to be tied down by a child immediately." Paris turned with an unusually determined expression towards Achilles. "Now I would like to know your intentions."

"You will stand for this … marriage?" The warrior asked.

Paris shrugged. "I have little influence on the decision. But I can make it easier and I do desire peace for my people. If I think that this marriage will not be unbearable for me…"

Achilles held out his hand. "Then know this: I would honor you and fulfill your needs as well as I can. I would protect you until death. I would seal this contract with you and take you to my bed." He paused. "Are you willing to stand beside me and stand with me for the agreement? Are you willing and prepared to share my bed?"

It did not take long for the prince to make a decision. "Yes, I am willing." Paris laid his hand into the warrior's larger one and together, hand in hand, they stood and went back into the palace where the others anxiously awaited them.

"We are in agreement!" Paris paused dramatically and finally Achilles picked up:

"We will marry to seal a peace contract between the Greek allies and the kingdom of Troy."

Hector was far from happy and Paris' priests were alarmed but Priam simply announced:

"Then Troy is willing. What say you, Agamemnon?"

Odysseus could almost see how hard it was for Agamemnon to say yes now. Troy was one of the largest sea-powers this side of the water and would have been a great addition in his collection of conquered territories.

"I agree," the King of Mycenae finally pressed out.

There were several sighs of relief. Odysseus was certain that those had been the hardest words the Greek king had ever been forced to speak.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Hector asked as he watched servants scurry around his youngest brother, fixing his hair and clothes and trying everything to make him even more stunning than he already was.

"You have asked me this several times in the past several days already, brother. And yes, I am sure about this," Paris answered. Against the women's urgings he turned towards his brother: "I understand that you are not particularly happy about this match."

Hector snorted at the understatement. "I don't trust Achilles to treat you right. He is a murderer."

"As are all warriors. Troy needs this peace contract as much as Greece."

"We could hold our own!" Hector interjected.

"For how long? I may not be a warrior or a strategist but I too heard the cries after battle for all the slain men! This marriage is the best for our people! And I need to get away from all those oppressing priests who think they know what is best for me! Achilles will give me that chance, I know it."

The crown-prince finally sighed in defeat. "As you wish." He then closed the distance between him and his brother and laid his hand on a bare shoulder. "Just remember that should anything ever happen, you still have me here in Troy."

He was rewarded with a blinding smile and an "I love you, brother." Hector placed a reverent kiss to his brother's cheek before he left his brother to be prepared for his wedding.

* * *

Some time later, Paris had finally got fed up with the servants' bustling and thrown them all out. He needed some time to reflect. Hector's visit had brought all of his doubts back. Had it been a bad idea after all, to agree so easily to marry for his kingdom? Would he really be in a better situation after leaving Troy? But of what use was his uncertainty now, just before the wedding? Exhausted and all of a sudden feeling completely helpless, he dropped his face into his hands and stifled a sob. He almost wanted to run to Hector now and tell him that he could not do this after all.

A soft knock retrieved him of his musings.

"Yes?" he snarled, annoyed at the unwelcome interruption. The door opened hesitantly and his brother's wife entered the room carefully. Hastily Paris wiped at his cheeks to remove any tear tracks that might have betrayed his inner conflict.

"Helen?" he inquired, surprised. "I didn't expect you."

She nodded. "I wanted to see you," she admitted after a long pause.

"Then come nearer at least and close the door," Paris sighed.

Helen approached and studied him closely. "You are going to Greece in my stead."

Paris grimaced. "Don't come to me with your guilt. I can't help you with that."

She visibly flinched at his harshness and the prince promptly felt remorse.

"I am sorry, Helen. I am in a foul mood," he apologized and the former Greek queen accepted it with a nod.

"You must have a lot of courage to agree to the marriage."

"Didn't you have courage when you decided to leave Menelaus and follow Deiphobus instead?"

A tender smile crossed her face. "He made it easy for me." Or maybe she had just been infatuated, Paris thought, and probably still was. Paris, on the other hand, didn't have the luxury of foolish love.

"When I was 16 and King Priam told me that I would not be allowed to return to my foster-parents, I cried a lot. My foster-father tried to console me and told me to have confidence and courage. Always. Because without those I would suffer."

She acknowledged his words. "He was wise. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry it turned out like this. I really had no idea it would be this bad."

He met her eyes and, briefly, he felt a sense of kinship with her. Perhaps, if things had gone differently and he had met her in Sparta and fallen in love, he might have taken her to Troy as well.

Helen left but her visit had reminded him of his foster-father's advice and he knew that he would have to take it to heart now as he probably never had before.

* * *

The feast went by like a blur for Paris and afterwards he would not be able to recite a single word of the speeches delivered by Agamemnon, Nestor, Odysseus, his father and others. Paris laid on the couch, dressed in fine cloth and jewels. His cup of wine was depleted quickly and he noticed little of the feast. He was, however, almost hyper-aware of Achilles' presence.

The blond warrior lay, now officially Paris' husband, on the same couch behind him, one hand resting lightly on Paris' hip.

The couple was obliged to stay until the wedding guests had delivered their respective speeches, well-wishes and presents.

Priam gave Achilles a pair of horses; Paris received one horse from Hector. It was a beautiful, rather docile mare that stood in stark contrast to Priam's prized warhorses. Paris knew that deep down Hector was still unhappy and worried about this marriage and the horse was his way of giving his brother a measure of attaining freedom; in other words, Hector was giving Paris the option of riding off. Paris thanked him for the gift though he felt certain that he would not need her. The other kings and nobles gave mostly gold and jewels to Paris and armor and weapons to Achilles. Ironically enough, this was one way that loot from temples outside of Troy was returned to a son of the city.

Achilles searched and clasped his hand which brought the young prince back to the present. Calculating looks rested on them, trying to surmise when the newlyweds would retire and solidify their bond.

Paris' gaze met Achilles' nervously but he nodded his consent to the unspoken question. Hand-in-hand they rose. The palpable apprehension eased. Paris barely heard how Achilles made their excuses. Nor did he see the corridors they went through or the doors they passed. It mattered little as he already knew where the room they would be sharing during the next few weeks until their departure was. It had been decided that Priam would accommodate them as the Greeks' camp was practically unthinkable.

The young prince's senses focused increasingly on his body. He felt warmth spreading in his stomach but it did nothing to sooth his anxiety and apprehension. Unconsciously he tightened his hand that was held by Achilles. The warrior squeezed back before he released it and instead laid a hand to the small of his back to lead him.

The doors seemed impossibly grand and the adornment much too elaborate. His legs, which had seemed so unsteady on their way, were now stronger. Taking a deep breath and lifting his chin, Paris turned towards the warrior at his side, his husband with whom he would soon consummate their marriage. Paris thought that he could detect almost concern in his eyes but also resolve. Achilles would not be the one to back down; he would explore the young prince's depths as was his right.

And so Paris did the only thing imaginable: he called upon his inner strength, aided by Aphrodite, opened the doors and stepped first into the room.

* * *

Paris watched as the last ship belonging to Agamemnon's army, which had left Troy at dawn, disappeared into the endless blue of the sea. Peace had returned to the city, trade was beginning to thrive again and the country's women no longer needed to fear that their sons and husbands would go to war and leave them behind.

The patter of sandaled feet on stone alerted Paris to somebody approaching from behind. Moments later arms wrapped around his waist and a chin rested on his shoulder. A kiss was pressed to his cheek as he leant back into the strong body behind him.

"I saw you from downstairs in the streets. You look so beautiful that I cannot resist you," a voice whispered into his ear and a hand wandered down his body only to disappear under his chiton and stroke his thighs.

Paris chuckled and turned in Achilles' arms to kiss him softly. The warrior quickly enveloped him in a breathtaking play of tongues.

"My men will have the ships ready by tomorrow," the Myrmidon told him after he had released the now kiss-swollen lips.

Paris looked down from the wall to where the ships with the black sails lay and noticed that the activity of the men had lessened indicating that the work was almost done. Then he gazed across the city. He had spent many years in Troy and he knew that he would not miss everything. Hector he would miss, as well as his wife Andromache and their son Astyanax with whom he had spent a lot of time. He would not miss his other brothers or most of his sisters; he would not miss the priests who had dictated his life.

Achilles tugging at a curl of his hair brought Paris out of his reminiscing. He looked as if he wanted to ask the prince whether he was alright. But the words did not pass his lips and Paris understood that the warrior wasn't there yet.

"I am going to miss some things in Troy," Paris explained.

"I will be true to my word and protect you if necessary. But you need not fear Phthia; you will like it there," Achilles answered.

The Trojan nodded. He only needed confidence. And courage.

* * *

_Hermaphroditos: Son of Aphrodite and Hermes; the gods joined him with Salmacis, a nymph who was in love with him._

_Dionysus: Primarily god of wine but also of ecstasy and fertility (though this probably refers more to soil and vine)_

* * *

_Thank you for reading. Reviews and advice would be very much appreciated._


	2. The Search for Immortality

_Edited in May 2010_

**Warnings: AU, Slash, mpreg**

Pairing: Achilles/Paris

Summery for the next chapters: While Achilles is off to war again, Peleus' status as king is threatened and Paris is sent to go to Achilles with Odysseus as his companion.

_My greatest thanks goes to Judy who went through this chapter and helped me with the corrections._

* * *

Chapter 2: The search for Immortality

A dark-haired head rested against his shoulder, the owner still deeply asleep while he watched. He had thrown off the covers as it had been extremely hot and humid both during the day and at night. So hot in fact, that even his companion had finally given up on dressing in the sarong he had previously insisted on (the other reason being that the sarong came off every night anyway).

An elegant neck led to male, but underdeveloped shoulders, a lean, bronzed body, unusually broad hips, beautifully formed buttocks and long legs. Sometimes when he ran his hands over the smooth body, he thought that the gods had made this person just for his pleasure and that this was the reward he had fought for all this time for. And yet, his name wouldn't be remembered because he was the only one permitted to trace the cleft and encounter the remains of last night's coupling; people wouldn't speak of him in awe because he had taken a son of Troy to his first night and taught him pleasure or because this Trojan looked at him with desire-clouded eyes and begged him for more with widely splayed legs.

For a moment his eyes narrowed in resentment and his hand tightened painfully around the other's hip until the sleeper let out a pained moan and tried to shift away. The warrior let go and his companion turned his back but did not wake up.

Troy was supposed to be his war, the war where he was immortalized. Instead he had returned with a foreign consort who, with his unusual ability, was more likely to find a place in the annals of mythology than he.

Agitated, he ignored the other's needy whine as he left the bed and dressed.

The training grounds were deserted. Patroclus would show up only long after sunrise, which was just as well for Achilles, as he preferred solitude for the moment anyway. He needed to think.

Achilles threw off his sarong and grasped one of the training swords to go through a furious routine he had begun when he first held a sword in his hand and had continually modified since.

As a boy, he had admired the men his mother had told him about; men whose name would ever live on like Jason, searching for the Golden Fleece or Heracles, who had managed to achieve fame in life for his deeds and risen to the status of a god after his death.

When he had become a man, he had sworn to himself that in 1000 years people would name him in the same breath as Jason and Heracles.

He thrust the sword forward into an imaginary enemy, stepped back and turned, then stopped abruptly as he caught sight of his mother watching him from the far side.

He didn't bother dressing as his mother would only roll her eyes and tell him that she had already seen everything he had when she took care of him until he turned 7 and was given to the males for the appropriate education. While his mother allowed herself a few more privileges than a mortal woman, Achilles knew that she wouldn't enter the gymnasium for any reason.

"Do you resent him?" Thetis asked him.

"Was it Aphrodite's doing?" he countered.

"Why do you think that?"

"I went to Troy to return victoriously or die in glory. Instead, I agreed to wed a naïve boy who resembles a female more than a male. When we met I got the impression that he could be more, but …," Achilles grimaced and shrugged.

"He is in a foreign country and there's no one he knows but you and Patroclus. He cannot be as you want or even as he wants because everyone treats him like a woman or worse. He has no task, not even the task a wife would receive. Did you know that your father's servant Alcimede asks him every other week if he has conceived? You do not want a child, he doesn't either but it is what people expect. He is no woman, but neither is he a man."

Achilles did not reply.

"You were hoping for a companion of equal status."

"He will never be equal to me."

"No, indeed he will not."

"What about me? Will my name be forgotten as thousands of others are? Is there nothing for me?"

Thetis remained quiet. She didn't know or wouldn't tell and this made Achilles frown in suspicion and thought.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this?" Achilles hesitantly asked.

Thetis shook her head. "Aphrodite intervened to change the future, not merely to grant a gift to somebody she favors. Now the future is uncertain and it will be harder for you and other people to fulfill their destined role. Advance carefully, my son. Nothing has been decided yet."

Thetis left the gymnasium. Achilles tried to continue his practice but found his thoughts too preoccupied. So instead he returned to the bedroom, found Paris still sleeping and joined him. It seemed that Paris had changed more lives than just one.

* * *

Since entering the mortal world by marriage, Thetis' journeys to Olympus had been few and far between. On one such trip she had attempted to make her son Achilles invincible, but had been thwarted shortly before she had been able to finish.

Olympus was as large as the gods wanted it to be, with so many paths it might be called a labyrinth, and yet it was always possible to find one's way in next to no time. Decoration, architecture and colors changed at the gods' will though only the major gods had the power for large modifications. The rooms she was looking for were usually quite dark, lit up only by fires and it seemed that little had changed since the last time. Thetis stepped around a broken vase's pieces on the floor, something that did not surprise her much as the gods' mood could be quite volatile.

"Thetis," he greeted her.

"Ares," she raised her head.

The God of War was sitting on his marble throne, with both hands wrapped leisurely around the hilt of a large sword and fine cloth wrapped around his hips to then pool at his feet on the floor. The god's shield was resting behind his leg against his throne. The frown he wore told Thetis of his displeasure and a mortal would probably have fled. Thetis, however, was no mortal.

"Do you still hold my son in your favor?" Thetis knew well when to be cryptically and when to skip phrases of slow introduction; Ares preferred the direct approach.

"You know I do. But things have become more difficult," Ares shrugged.

"Aphrodite shouldn't have intervened."

"Maybe not but that cannot be changed now."

"Then how will my son archive his purpose? His chance is gone!"

The god's frown got darker and he almost snarled. "I am already doing everything I can!" Ares jumped off his throne so violently that his large shield clattered onto the ground. He paced the room while playing with his sword. With an air of finality, he swung the blade against a red marble column, causing the stone to crack.

"Soon. Soon Agamemnon will ask Achilles to go on a campaign with him to fight in Messenia. Your son must agree to go."

"And you think a small fight in Messenia will make him immortal?"

"Patience, Thetis! It seems to me that you have lost that since marrying a mortal."

"Achilles does not have forever!"

"Take what I have given you to your son and be content with it!"

He pointed his sword at the door and Thetis left in a huff.

* * *

"'Dite! 'Dite!" Looking for a god could be truly frustrating sometimes. If they weren't in their parts of Olympus they could be in somebody else's, in the halls, in one of their temples or just about anywhere else in the mortal world.

Ares only hoped that Aphrodite was not with Hephaestus, which, while unlikely, was still possible. Ares could recall only too clearly the time when the smith god had caught him and his wife red-handed, causing a lot of amusement for the other gods and embarrassment for him. Also, Hephaestus was still quite angered by his sight and Ares might be the God of War but he was not foolish.

Usually, when one god was looking for another, the other knew. But, of course, if they believed they had better things to do or simply didn't want to be found, it was of no use. Ares was just contemplating taking a peek into Hephaestus' forge, when the Goddess of Love appeared in a dramatic flurry of colors (notably white, light blue and pink, all colors which Ares disliked) behind him.

"Sorry, Ari", she lilted, "I was needed in a temple on Lesbos."

"Whatever," Ares would have rolled his eyes, but he was somewhat busy ogling the goddess' state of undress. Aphrodite only smiled and, a little more subtly, studied the other God's heavily muscled form. Finally, with some difficulty, Ares cleared his throat and became serious.

"We need to talk about Achilles."

"Achilles?" she inquired. "He is of no interest to me," she shrugged one shoulder and turned to go to her chambers, forcing Ares to follow.

"Your game with that Trojan messed up the destiny I had planned for him."

"This is no game! And his name is Paris!" Aphrodite shut the door behind the other god. "I saved his life. And I also saved Achilles'."

"Well, maybe Achilles wasn't supposed to be saved. His name was destined to live on forever and sacrifices have to be made!"

Aphrodite draped herself across her bed. The God of War had no idea why but somehow what he wanted to say next got stuck in his throat.

"You…," again he cleared his throat. "You shouldn't forget about the others…"

Aphrodite unwrapped the loose cloth from around her hips and Ares drew closer.

"What others?" she asked with a seductive smile.

"Athena and Oyd… Odsy…" What was his name again?

"They can wait," Aphrodite soothed him as she grasped his hand and tugged until his task now completely forgotten, Ares joined her.

* * *

Author's Note: Long story short, I'm still in Rome and as you can imagine, some parts of this story have been inspired by my stay here. The description of Ares, for example, is based on a statue at Palazzo Altemps. Unfortunately my being here also means that my internet access is very limited, I don't have a beta-reader and I just don't have the peace and quiet I would need to go through a dozen or so profiles either. A few chapters I have already written out but they still need to be checked so I really don't know when I can get those up. I am really sorry for the long wait but, thank god, I'm going back home at the end of November.


	3. Departure and Fate

**Warnings: AU, Slash, mpreg**

Pairing: Achilles/Paris

* * *

Chapter 3: Departure and Fate

A few weeks after his talk with his mother, Achilles returned to his and Paris' bedroom after training with both Patroclus and Eudorus. The bed was empty and rumpled but the splashing in the next room told Achilles that Paris was merely taking a bath.

Adrenalin still pumped through his blood which drew the warrior to his sword hanging next to his shield on the wall. He drew the sword and tested the edge. It was still keen enough to cut skin but Achilles would sharpen it anyway. One never knew, after all, and Eudorus had warned him once after training to be watchful. Something was going on and Achilles did not know what, which made him even more cautious. A known danger could be avoided; an unknown posed a greater risk.

His musings were interrupted by a strange sound and Achilles narrowed his eyes. It sounded like a crying baby. It was not the shrill cry of a young child that had injured itself or was dissatisfied, but it sounded like a baby of only a few months' age. Achilles prided himself in knowing everything that went on in his or his father's household and he was pretty certain that there was no woman who had a young baby or could have given birth recently. Again he heard the cry. He sheathed the sword and, with his eyes closed to hear better, he followed the noise. Strangely enough, it led him into his own bathroom.

"Good morning," Paris greeted him. Achilles opened his eyes to see the raised eyebrow his consort wore. "Do you often walk around with your eyes closed?" There was a small, almost mocking smile tugging at the corner of Paris' mouth, which reminded Achilles that his Trojan consort had confidence.

"Did you hear a baby crying?" Achilles inquired. Now Paris frowned.

"No. And besides, there is nobody here who has a baby."

Achilles nodded but still studied the room. Paris was indeed the only one inside and the crying had also stopped. The warrior shook his head to rid himself of the strange sensation.

Paris, meanwhile, stepped out of the bathwater and searched for a towel.

"Strange," Paris remarked.

"What?"

"Who would put fruit in the bathroom?" Paris indicated to a golden tray where a single red, appetizing-looking apple sat. Paris picked it up and eyed the platter.

"None of the servants," Achilles answered. "Don't eat it," the Greek advised and took the fruit out of his consort's hand, who had just been about to lift it to his lips. Paris drew back in fright.

"Do you think it might be poisoned?"

Achilles shrugged one shoulder as he turned the plate to look at its bottom. A seashell surrounded by foam was scratched into the metal.

"It's not poisoned," he declared. Paris recognized the reference and with awe he looked up into his husband's face and smiled. His hand joined Achilles' around the apple but suddenly his smile vanished and he quickly dropped his hand. A frown marred his face instead and his mouth tightened as he turned away to reach for a towel.

"Don't eat it now," Achilles told him, "but when we see each other again." The warrior sat the apple and the plate back down.

"You are leaving?"

"Yes, for Messenia in seven days' time."

Paris looked as if he wanted to comment but then only inquired:

"Won't the apple go bad?"

"No," the Greek answered with a certainty and confidence that Paris often admired.

Achilles checked the water in the basin. It looked clean, as Paris never got very dirty anyway. The warrior undressed and entered the water which only reached his waist. Paris looked on with interest and the beginnings of desire, which made Achilles smirk. He reached up and tugged the Trojan closer on his towel until Paris released it to drop onto the floor and followed Achilles obediently back into the water.

The Greek warrior wrapped his large hands around the younger man's waist, pulling him closer and kissed him. Paris was often surprised at the softness of Achilles' lips, which belied the strength that the warrior used even when coupling. Achilles' tongue entered the Trojan's mouth while his hands wandered lower to cup the smooth bottom.

Paris responded eagerly, slung his arms around Achillles' neck and wriggled back into his husband's grip. Achilles led Paris forward until the blonde bumped against the marble steps, sat on one and lifted Paris onto his lap. His erection rubbed insistently between the Trojan's legs. Suddenly, something occurred to him and the warrior broke the kiss.

"Why would you need the apple?"

"Wha…?" Paris panted. It took a moment for Achilles' words to sink in but when they did, Paris frowned in confusion.

"I don't know, I thought it would work just like that if I wanted it to."

"The gods rarely place something at a mortal's disposal."

Paris flushed with embarrassment. His naivety and faith in the goodness of the gods were a sharp contrast to Achilles', the son of a nymph's distrust and superior knowledge.

The warrior soothed him with a kiss on the swollen lips.

"She did not say a lot about my ability," Paris admitted, referring to Aphrodite. Achilles hummed, but only half of his attention was on the mystery of the apple and Paris' fertility. His mouth moved over Paris' neck, he nipped briefly on the collarbone, then sucked one nipple into his mouth and bit it gently with his teeth, causing Paris to cry out.

Achilles soothed him before releasing the nub to move to the other one and repeat his actions until he was satisfied and Paris completely gone with pleasure.

Paris had wrapped his legs tightly around Achilles' hips and continued to rub his buttocks against Achilles' manhood.

"Maybe it heightens your fertility. Or enhances your lust," Achilles remarked. Had Paris been able to think properly, he would have been surprised at the warrior's ability to reason. Instead, Paris did not respond and simply sought to render Achilles quiet by initiating a kiss of his own.

* * *

As he had informed Paris, Achilles left Thessaly for Messenia with most warriors a week later. Paris, as well as Achilles' parents, accompanied Achilles to the port to bid him farewell. Peleus held a speech which basically told of his confidence in his son's superior ability and his certain victory. Paris kept in the background, as did Thetis. He already disliked the studying looks he received wherever he went which alternated between his stomach and hips. He needn't draw any extra attention to himself.

Much to Patroclus' frustration, the younger warrior had been told to stay in Thessaly and only Eudorus followed Achilles to war.

The next days turned into weeks. Thetis left to go wherever it was that immortals went when they left the mortal world, and, while Patroclus kept Paris company as much as he could, he also had other duties and training which kept him occupied. The Trojan, on the other hand, was left with even fewer things to do now that Achilles was gone. Finally, as much as he disliked it, he decided to turn his attention to the mysterious apple, which, as Achilles had promised, still looked as good as it had on its first day. Before, in Troy, he had often gone to one of Aphrodite's temples to pray, had even been encouraged by the priests in charge of his care, and, while they had not cared much for Paris' attention to Dionysus, they had permitted it in the hope of higher fertility.

Usually it had been Dionysus who had appeared in his dreams but he knew that the goddess of love had never turned from him. Since his arrival in Thessaly, however, he had dreamt nothing noteworthy and the apple was the first occurrence and direct intervention from Aphrodite since he had received his gift. But Paris had also not been in one of her temples for a while. Actually, he hadn't even seen any devotion to her in Thessaly. Finally, he was forced to ask Alcimede, one of Peleus' most trusted slaves, who had been watching Paris like a hawk ever since his arrival.

"Have you finally conceived?" was her first question when he asked for directions to a temple. Paris gritted his teeth.

"Achilles does not wish for a child at the moment and neither do I. Aphrodite and Dionysus are my patrons and I would like to pray to them."

Alcimede grimaced and took on a look of impatience at his answer.

"There is no temple for Aphrodite in Thessaly. The Myrmidons are warriors and only devoted to Ares. But maybe praying to Aphrodite will keep you from remaining barren," she gave him a critical look, "Tomorrow we will move your belongings upstairs; there you can install an altar for Aphrodite if you like. But forget about Dionysus! You are not in Troy anymore! In Thessaly only commoners take part in this cult!"

Paris drew back in shock.

"Why do I have to move out of my rooms?" he demanded.

"As his consort, you will have separate quarters upstairs –"

"With the women!" Paris interrupted scandalized.

Alcimede shut him up with a black look.

"Yes, with the women. As bearer of his child you are little better than they! It is unseemly for you to share the rooms with the greatest warrior alive!"

"Achilles never minded," Paris protested.

"Achilles is not here and besides, these are the king's instructions."

Frustrated and near tears, Paris turned away and walked quickly back to his rooms – or rather, Achilles' rooms – where he collapsed on one of his husband's animal skins lying on the floor and sobbed.

"Courage," he told himself, "courage."

He wiped away his tears determinedly, washed his face and put his clothes and hair in order. He would go speak to Peleus personally.

This, however, proved to be harder than he had thought. Peleus' steward denied him entrance.

"It is important! And am I not his son's consort?" Paris demanded.

"That you are but it means little. Is it about Achilles that you wish to speak to the king?"

The Trojan shook his head.

"Then it is only important to you. I will tell the king that you desire to see him and he will send you a messenger when he grants you an audience."

And with those words, the steward pushed Paris out of the door.

Without even pausing to go back to his rooms, Paris left for the sea. On foot, it would take him longer than if he had had his horse, but he needed the long walk to let off steam. He violently kicked stones that were in the way, but after the anger came frustration and then loneliness and sadness. He remembered his first few weeks in Thessaly when Achilles had taken him on his great warhorse to the beach where they had proceeded to make love several times.

Lately, however, their relationship had cooled noticeably. Sometimes Paris felt uneasy when Achilles watched him. It was almost as if Paris was an obstacle for the warrior, who he considered removing. These were the moments when the young prince was reminded that he had been given to the Myrmidon to end a war. Would Troy still be standing if Priam hadn't managed to negotiate peace? The young Trojan knew about Hector's and Achilles' initial meeting in Apollo's temple on the beach and Paris shuddered to think what would have happened had they met again on the battlefield.

Achilles thirsted for glory and fame and Paris intuitively knew, as Achilles did, that had it not been for Aphrodite and her gift, history would have been different and Achilles' goal been reached.

Having arrived at the beach, Paris undressed, threw his chiton onto a stone and went into the water. The sky was cloudy and the sea rough. Heedless of the high waves, Paris decided to swim out into the open sea. He wouldn't go very far anyway and Achilles had never swum much with him. But the Trojan was sure he would manage, and besides, he needed the exercise. It had been too long.

* * *

_First of all, I am very sorry for the delay. I had really hoped to post this chapter earlier but it was stuck in editing for a very long time and it just didn't work out._

_Thanks goes to **Judy **again who helped me by beta-ing this chapter._

_Reviews are always appreciated and if anyone could imagine being my beta for the following chapters please don't hesitate to contact me. This may sound lazy seeing as ff-net has this great beta-reader-search-function but so far the people I wrote to just didn't work out._

_**Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it and merry Christmas to everyone!**_


	4. In the Gods' Hands

_Eros: Now you will see that you were quite right: swimming was not a good idea._

_Unfortunately the following scene is based on my own experience during my time in Rome: obviously I didn't drown even though there was no Patroclus to save me, but it was a close thing.  
_

* * *

Chapter 4: In the Gods' Hands

He was drowning. His arms and legs flailed. He tried to keep his head above the water, but the waves mercilessly swallowed him and pulled him downwards. Strength left him more quickly than anticipated and panic made him frantic. Once he managed to catch some air but the next moment he choked on salty seawater.

Would Poseidon take him? Paris was not ready to give in, but his limbs refused to obey him and he could not rest with nothing around but water. Suddenly, an iron grip clasped around his arm and pulled him upwards. He clung to the body next to him and gasped for air once they broke the surface.

"Come on!"

Paris nodded shakily. Patroclus directed him onto his back despite the Trojan's frightened protests which the young warrior soothed. With one arm free to swim and the other around Paris, Patroclus pulled him towards the shore.

It took surprisingly little time to reach higher ground where they could stand and walk, or in Paris' case stumble onto the beach, where the Trojan promptly collapsed.

Patroclus wrapped his arms around the young prince and held him close.

"You shouldn't swim out too far. Often something looks closer than it is and it is easy to underestimate Poseidon's realm. Why didn't you ask anyone to come with you?"

Paris sniffed and wiped at his eyes. It was impossible to tell if he was crying or if it was simply the aftermath of his near drowning.

"And who could I have asked?"

Patroclus sighed in understanding and gently stroked the Trojan's hair. While Patroclus was actually younger than Paris, there was no doubt that the Myrmidon was the more mature one.

Paris pulled back and only then noticed that Patroclus had not taken the time to undress before he had gone after Paris. He turned his head away in shame and was glad that Patroclus didn't comment further.

"Alcimede wants me to move out of Achilles' rooms tomorrow. On Peleus' orders."

"Where are you supposed to move to instead?"

"Into the women's quarters."

"But you are no woman!"

"But also obviously not fit to share the rooms of the 'greatest warrior alive'."

"I don't think that Achilles minded."

"That's exactly what I said! I wanted to speak to Peleus personally but his steward refused me entrance."

"I'll speak to Peleus," Patroclus immediately decided.

"No, I have to do it. It's time he knows that I'm not a mindless object to be shown off and pushed around."

Patroclus was doubtful that Paris would achieve what he wanted but didn't say so. In a way he could understand Paris' frustration. Absentmindedly, the young Greek took off his wet chiton and laid it next to Paris' on the stone; he was glad he hadn't worn the Myrmidon's traditional black leather one, as it would have been a lot harder to swim in. He had, however, come to the beach better prepared than Paris and was now able to spread a mat on the sandy ground and invite the Trojan to sit with him.

* * *

He sat comfortably on his back-less throne, situated a few steps above the others, with his chin cupped in his right hand and the elbow balanced on his knee. He was more majestic than anyone else, king and father to all, and now expected to pass judgment. Patiently he listened to the complaints brought forth, all caused by the interference of the lovely woman who lay almost in the middle of the room in front of him. To his right and left sat the two others among whom the world had been divided: Poseidon looked slightly bored, as his role was small in this conflict. Hades, however, was listening attentively as in the end it was his world all mortals would eventually enter but some had not as planned.

Apollo stood in the background, a rare occurrence, as it was usually he who stood in the center of things. But he had little to complain about: it was his city after all that was still standing. Other major and minor gods stood and listened on.

Behind Aphrodite sat Hermaphrodite, his head held high, but not in arrogance, though he was the very epitome of all that was beautiful in a man and a woman, son of Aphrodite and Hermes but joined with the nymph Salmacis in body and mind for all eternity. Aphrodite lay proudly and listened to Athena's tirade with a neutral expression. Ares stood near the pacing Athena and nodded his head once in a while in agreement with her words.

"Aphrodite's interference in prince Paris' life also interfered with Odysseus', Achilles' and many other mortals' as well as Troy's future! How can they fulfill their destiny now? Hades is missing thousands of souls because the Trojan War did not end as it was supposed to!"

"Then why didn't you speak up when I gave Paris the gift?" Aphrodite inquired, though she knew the answer well.

"Because I did not realize the consequences Paris' fertility would have! The war was destined! The bonding between Paris and Achilles should not have taken place and you should have considered the consequences this would have on the others!"

Aphrodite did not respond and Athena studied her suspiciously.

"You knew the consequences," the Goddess of War accused. Her sharp mind turned to the next inevitable question and her gaze quickly turned to Apollo. "You told her what would happen!"

Apollo looked caught between smirking at Athena that he had bested her or looking guilty for Zeus' sake. The divine father did not approve of direct interferences and attempts to change a mortal's future, though everyone knew he had done it plenty of times himself. Zeus' brows drew together.

"Apollo isn't the only one involved," Ares announced, smirking triumphantly at his knowledge which, judging by Athena's expression, she did not have. One look from Zeus, however, was enough for Ares to reveal the mystery.

"Dionysus!"

The God of Wine promptly choked on a grape in surprise and raised his head, wide-eyed.

"If you had looked in on Paris just once instead of watching your precious Odysseus worriedly, you would know this as well," Ares commented to Athena. Angrily Zeus banged his fist against the arm of his throne and stood up.

"Is there anyone else I should know about?" the god asked and sternly studied the present immortals. Nobody answered.

"The others leave," Zeus ordered. "Thetis may stay."

Achilles' mother drew nearer to Zeus' place while Hermaphrodite and the other immortals and demigods departed until only the three culprits, their accusers and the three gods of the world were left.

"Athena spoke truly: it is dangerous and forbidden to directly interfere in the mortal world. All of you know this, agreed to the rule and yet you broke it." Zeus started pacing. "Tell me, 'all-seeing' Apoll, what you know now of the future?"

Apollo lowered his eyes. "I see nothing," he admitted.

Zeus nodded. He had expected that. "We will wait," the divine father announced, "and see." He stopped pacing and looked hard at the gods in front of him. "And there will be NO further interferences by ANY of you."

"Aphrodite looked as if she wanted to protest and Zeus raised an eyebrow at her.

"What happens when Paris conceives?"

"IF he conceives, Hermaphrodite will direct him, and either I or Hera will be watching."

"Why not simply revoke the gift?" Athena argued.

"That would probably only cause even more chaos. Let the mortals sort it out by themselves. Let them choose their paths," Zeus answered.

"Some of those paths might not be available anymore," Ares growled unhappily.

"My decision has been made." And with that Zeus dismissed the gods.

The immortals left but Athena and Ares threw distrusting looks at Aphrodite, Apollo and Dionysus and while nobody commented, it was clear that it would only be a matter of time before somebody broke the rules.

* * *

_Thanks goes to **Judy **for correcting the grammar.  
_

_The next chapter shouldn't be long and it should also be a lot better because Litrouke has agreed to be my beta and we are currently working on the next chapter._

_**Thank you for reading, please remember to leave a review.  
**_


	5. Meetings

_My eternal thanks goes to my **beta Litrouke**. Your suggestions, advice and encouragement helped me a lot. Thank you._

* * *

**Chapter 5: Meetings**

Paris was forced to wait three days until he was finally permitted an audience with Peleus. By that time, he had already been forced to move into the upper level, though he had not bothered with decoration as he still hoped to move back as soon as possible.

As a prince of Troy, Paris had been taught to always dress well, especially when in the presence of a king. Shortly before he met Peleus, Paris went through the trunks he had brought from Troy and found a dark blue chiton which he pulled on. He wrapped a belt made by Andromache around his waist to accentuate his figure and outlined his eyes slightly with kohl. He knew that he needed to make a good impression on Peleus for the Myrmidon king to reconsider his order.

While Peleus did have a throne room, it was not as large or as richly decorated as Paris was used to. The Myrmidons' audience hall measured only about half the size of Priam's: hardly a suitable place to meet with one's advisors but then, there were a lot of things done differently in Thessaly than in Troy. The decoration was of a warrior nature. Large shields, swords and spears dominated the walls and they, too, were not adorned as lavishly as Paris would have expected of weaponry used in an audience hall. In fact, the whole room was quite plain, the surrounding columns bore no particular design and the frescoes on the wall depicted no scenes of Peleus' forefathers but consisted merely of a coating of red paint.

At one time, Peleus had certainly had an air of command that made him king of the Myrmidons, but he was now well past his middle age. The years had caused him to lose that visible strength, and Paris knew that it was only his son Achilles who now secured Peleus' reign and power.

When the Trojan entered the room, Peleus was already awaiting his son-in-law.

"Why is it that you so urgently need to speak to me?"

"I have come to ask you why I have been forced out of my rooms." Paris strained to reign himself in, but his eyes betrayed his turmoil and anger. "Achilles had me move into them and he never minded sharing his rooms with me." The Trojan frowned darkly. "I have also been forbidden to move outside and even to pray to Dionysus." He became more agitated than he had planned and Peleus threw him a sharp look. Paris balled his hands into fists. "My life has been decided for me for six years in Troy; I will not accept it here as well!"

"Check your tongue. You may be my son's spouse, but that does not make you the head of this house." Peleus' spoke calmly but his eyes bore hard into the Trojan's.

"The way I see it, my status gives me no right to decisions, even when they affect only me."

"You are young," Peleus studied him, "and so far I have seen no contribution from you to this house."

"If there will ever be one is doubtful anyway," another voice joined. A dark-haired man stepped into the room without even asking for permission, and it was obvious that he had been listening to their argument.

"Aischlylos!" Peleus thundered, but it made no impression. The man was dressed in a black chiton that covered him to his knees but left his arms bare. And while his biceps were not as prominent as Achilles', it was evident that Aischylos was a warrior. Glinting caught Paris eyes and led his gaze to the man's fingers upon which were set several rings with diverse stones, a tribute to his wealth the Trojan quickly concluded. The hair that reached his shoulders was slightly curled and Paris was reminded of another man, though he couldn't place his finger on it and the name didn't help him either.

Aischylos completely ignored Peleus for the moment and instead let his eyes roam critically over Paris.

"You are no more than Achilles' spoils of war," Aischylos sneered.

The young prince's mouth fell open in shock while Aischylos stepped around him as if he were a horse on sale. Paris felt humiliated at the Myrmidon's calculating look and the way his eyes studied him, leaving no arch and no plain of his body ignored.

"Though a pretty one you are indeed, pretty enough for the 'great Achilles' to miss the Trojans' trick."

"What are you talking about? Are you insulting my son?" Peleus demanded.

Aischylos turned to the king, a look of feigned surprise on his face.

"What, you didn't notice? The Trojans tricked your son. It was all a lie; Troy sacrificed this boy to be spared. They made up some story about his fertility but really Peleus, do you still believe it? His belly is as flat as it was when he arrived, and everyone knows that Achilles' prowess in bed matches his in battle! Achilles, meanwhile, leaves to seek his fortune in Messenia."

"That is a lie!" Paris shouted furiously and stepped determinedly up to Aischylos. He didn't even see the slap coming, but he definitely felt it; the force caused him to hit the marble floor.

"Aischlylos!" Peleus protested. No matter what he might think of his Trojan son-in-law or having his own personal doubts voiced aloud by the other man, it was an insult to him for a member of his house to be attacked on his very own grounds without his interference.

"Leave! You dare insult our family, in my house even? I will not have it; I am king in this land!"

Aischylos only looked at Peleus. "Indeed you are. For now." With only a cursory glance at Paris, who was getting up with his cheeks burning of shame and not meeting anyone's eyes, the Myrmidon left.

* * *

"I heard that you were back!" Patroclus commented as he stuck his head into Achilles' – and Paris' – rooms.

"Yes," Paris confirmed tonelessly. He sat unmoving with his head lowered on the bed, running his fingers over the cover. He had sniffed at them testingly earlier, but to his disappointment they had been washed and Achilles' scent did not linger on them anymore.

"What happened?" Patroclus frowned and entered the room to join Paris on the bed. The Trojan lifted his head and Patroclus gasped when he saw the red handprint still starkly visible on his cheek.

"Did Peleus-?"

"No!" Paris interrupted. "There was another man. His name was Aischlylos."

"Aischylos?" I should have known! I should have stayed nearby!" Angrily, Patroclus punched the bed. "And Peleus didn't say anything?"

Paris shrugged and opened his mouth to comment on Peleus' powerlessness, but then decided against it and simply shook his head.

Patroclus lifted Paris' chin and met his eyes. The young Greek's obvious concern reminded the Trojan that he was not alone in Thessaly, though he had felt it a lot lately. Loneliness and fear were written clearly in Paris' eyes, to an extend even the desire to surrender and become but a shadow in this house; the Trojan needed love, reassurance, a champion to fight for him and Patroclus felt angry at Achilles for not doing all those things that his cousin had promised the Trojan he would do. Full of sorrow, Paris closed his expressive eyes against the Greek's examination.

Patroclus pressed a brotherly kiss on the Trojan's cheek. "It's going to be okay." He said and left the room.

* * *

"Why didn't you send for me?" Patroclus demanded.

"It was nothing," Peleus denied.

"You would say that when Aischylos hits Paris in your very own throne room?"

Peleus stood contemplating. "I am starting to question my son's choice to take that Trojan as his consort."

"Why?" Patroclus asked incredulously. "Did Aischylos say something about Paris? Why do you listen to him? He wants power; he is trying to drive a wedge between you and Paris in Achilles' absence!"

"Aischylos only confirmed doubts I have had for a long time now."

"There is nothing to doubt!" Patroclus argued.

"What makes you so certain that the Trojans didn't fool you?"

"Besides the fact that I had my fingers up Paris' ass?"

Peleus sent Patroclus a black look for his crudeness but the young Greek refused to apologize.

"Have you ever really looked at him? His hips are practically made for childbearing! There are not the hips of a man!"

"So why is he still not carrying? He shared Achilles' bed for more than four months and still there is no indication of a son!"

Patroclus sighed. "Achilles doesn't want a child for now," he explained in a tone that suggested that he had said those exact words a thousand times before, "and neither does Paris."

Peleus made a dismissive gesture and turned away to look out of the window. He had a nervous air about him and Patroclus understood why. Silently he cursed Achilles for deciding to join Agamemnon now of all times, when Eudorus had explicitly warned him of Aischylos drive for power.

"What are you going to do about Aischylos?"

Peleus shrugged. "What can I do but send a messenger to my son to return immediately? Achilles has almost all of our warriors with him and we cannot rely on the few that are left here. Who knows who they would support should a conflict break out."

Dissatisfied with Peleus' answer, Patroclus left the king and silently decided that he had to act on his own. And he would start right away with a visit to Aischylos.

* * *

It was dark when Paris woke, which meant that it was still the middle of the night. But outside he heard voices, stomping feet and other noises unusual for the time.

"Take him to his room! Be careful!" he heard Peleus instruct.

Paris left the bed immediately, crossed the room and opened the door to the hallway, still dressed only in his light sarong for the night. Three men, servants and one guard, were carrying a person between each other while Peleus followed them with a worried expression. A fourth man was pressing some cloth to the downed man's chest, which was red with blood.

"What … oh gods!" Paris interrupted his own question and gasped as he recognized Patroclus. The young Myrmidon's blond hair was dirty and blood-streaked, his eyes closed and mouth open, blood tainting his teeth.

"What happened?" Paris asked and followed the men as they passed his door.

"He was found badly injured not far from the palace."

"Aischylos!" Paris swore. Peleus turned towards him. "It is not your place to accuse someone."

The king looked angry and Paris tried hard not to look incredulously at Peleus. Was he the only one still in Thessaly bold enough to state the obvious?

"Go back to your room. There is nothing you can do," his father-in-law ordered.

Angered, Paris halted and only watched as the men disappeared around the corner, Patroclus with them.

Paris turned to go back to his room but abruptly stopped. Thetis stood calmly next to his door, her face serious, almost grave.

"Come," she instructed and vanished into the chambers. The Trojan followed her quickly. While he hadn't gotten to know Thetis well in the months he had spent in Thessaly, he trusted her and thought her to have more sense than the king. Inside his rooms, Thetis was going through his chests of clothes and stuffing some of his more practical ones into a sack made for traveling.

"You are leaving," she explained and threw him a chiton to dress in.

"To go where? And how long?"

"King Odysseus of Ithaca will reach these shores at dawn. You will meet him and tell him to accompany you to Messenia. There you will tell Achilles that Aischylos is reaching for the power here."

Paris caught on quickly and went to get Aphrodite's apple. When Thetis caught sight of it, she briefly took it out of his hand and her face broke into a smile.

"Give the pips to Achilles."

The fruit vanished into the bag.

"Take the cloak!"

Paris dressed in the dark cloak usually reserved for colder winters but he understood that in this case it would serve to protect his identity.

Meanwhile Thetis was searching around the room, murmuring "where is it…" under her breath. Paris was just about to ask what she was looking for when she made a triumphant sound and pulled a light sword out of one of Achilles' trunks. Quickly she also found the belt it belonged to and with the practiced moves of both a mother and the wife of a warrior, she wrapped the belt with the sheathed sword around Paris' waist.

"I don't know how to use a sword," Paris protested, panic beginning to get a hold of him.

Thetis put a calming hand on him. "You will learn. If you want to survive this, you will have to learn."

She pressed the sack into his hand, and he threw it over his shoulder, not at all foreign to carrying his own luggage.

After one last look around the room, Paris followed Thetis who led him outside the palace. "Go now to the port where the Myrmidons have their ships. But be careful!"

"What about Patroclus?"

"Go quickly! You must not cross Aischylos' path again! Otherwise you will carry his child!"

Paris' eyes widened and he prayed feverishly for the gods to protect him.

* * *

Next chapter: Flight. Paris meets up with Odysseus but bad starts are often the cause for tension afterwards.

_Thank you for reading and please leave a** review.  
**_


	6. Flight

**Chapter 6: Flight**

Dawn broke slowly. To Paris, it seemed that the night before had been the longest in his whole life. Fear had quickened his steps and made him mouth endless prayers to all the gods he thought likely to help him, down to Troy's patron Apollo and his husband's protector Ares.

The last time he had tried to remain undetected, he had been playing hide-and-seek with his brother Hector when they were children. The crown-prince had always been able to find him, declaring that a herd of stomping horses was quieter than he. When he met Hector the next time, he would have to tell his brother that such statements came to one's mind in the worst moments possible.

Finally, he had reached the Myrmidon's port, where he still tried to keep his presence hidden, not knowing who he could trust or if Aischylos had any supporters there. But it seemed that he was being ignored anyway. The workers at the port were unloading a merchant ship which had just arrived, mumbling their displeasure at the early hour – but always under their breath, watchful of the loathed merchant's staff which the man wielded with much enthusiasm and strength.

Twice now, Paris had almost been run over by busy workers, but nobody paid him any attention or even apologized. Paris kept searching the horizon for Odysseus' ship, one task at least he was good at. Ship-spotting had been one of his favorite activities when he was young, and he was confident that he would be able to recognize the Ithacan's ship once it came.

"A small offer for an old man … if you have any?"

Paris turned to see a crouched figure covered by a brown, shabby cloak of which the hood was pulled down to hide the person's face – very similar to Paris actually. The figure had one hand stretched out, reaching for Paris who turned away in disgust. He did not even wish to get close to such a dishonorable person.

"Please," the person insisted. Paris made to leave but the beggar unexpectedly grasped his arm in a much stronger grip than Paris had thought possible.

"Young princes shouldn't walk around the port alone," the man said, his voice changed to a stronger, more commanding tone.

Panicked, Paris reached for his sword beneath the cloak, but within an instant his other arm was restrained as well, and the man was pulling him away from the crowd to a more secluded place. Paris' attempts at resistance proved useless, and once out of sight, the man restrained both his arms behind his back with one hand. The stranger pulled Paris close to him and lifted the prince's hood away from his face.

"I knew it," the 'beggar' claimed triumphantly.

Paris was still wriggling, trying to escape somehow. "Let me go!" he demanded uselessly.

"Why? Would you really want to run away from a friend?"

The man now lifted his own hood, revealing a grinning and obviously quite amused Odysseus.

Paris honestly didn't know whether to kiss him or hit him. He decided to give in to relief and almost collapsed in Odysseus' arms, which had relaxed their grip on him.

"I'm so glad to have found you," Paris admitted. Odysseus' cheerful expression vanished abruptly at the prince's obvious relief.

"Why, what's going on? And where is Achilles?"

"Achilles is in Messenia."

"So he went with Agamemnon after all," Odysseus mused. "I would have expected him to stay." Thoughtfully, the king studied Paris. First it was as if the Ithacan was trying to read Paris' face, then his eyes strayed thoughtfully to his waist.

"No, I am not pregnant!" Paris almost shouted and angrily pushed himself away from the Ithacan.

"I didn't realize you wanted the whole port to know; I would have thought there was a reason behind your attempt at incognito." Odysseus raised an eyebrow with almost benevolent amusement.

Annoyed at both the Ithacan, who seemed unwilling to understand the gravity of the situation, and himself for losing his composure, Paris turned away from Odysseus to regain his bearings, as well as to see if anyone had heard him. Fortunately, he saw no one. Odysseus clasped his shoulder, forcing him to turn and meet the king's eyes. Paris took a deep breath.

"Somebody is trying to usurp Peleus. Patroclus was attacked and almost killed." Odysseus' features went slack with shock. Paris felt a small sense of satisfaction for finally having the king's attention but instantly felt bad for it. "Thetis told me to find you so that we can go to Messenia where I will tell Achilles what happened."

"You want to go to Messenia? You do realize that there is a war going on right now! If you really can't stay here, it would be better if I took you to Troy and went to find Achilles on my own…"

"No," Paris interrupted. "I have to go to Messenia." And Paris put on his most determined expression and looked hard into Odysseus' eyes. It had always worked with Hector and it absolutely had to now as well. Odysseus returned his look. Paris tried to convey the absolute uselessness of any protest and, eventually, the Ithacan weakened until he finally let out an exasperated sigh.

"Did Thetis say that you had to go to Achilles?"

"Yes!" Paris affirmed confidently.

"Alright. Let's go then."

Odysseus pulled up his hood, returned to his crouched manner and left without waiting for Paris. The Trojan didn't mind, still feeling both stunned and triumphant to have so suddenly won Odysseus over. He hid his face again, then moved to catch up to the slow pace of the 'beggar-king'.

"Where is your ship?"

"A little further down the coast. I thought I would surprise Achilles."

Paris nodded thoughtfully, glad he hadn't been simply too blind after all to see the Ithacan's vessel. For a while, he walked next to Odysseus, lost in thought.

"Ask already," the king suddenly ordered, and Paris could almost hear the smile in his voice. This time it was Paris who had to admit defeat.

"How did you recognize me?"

Odysseus kept quiet, enjoying the suspense. Paris could almost feel him smirking and gritted his teeth. He had no idea what it was about Odysseus that set his teeth on the edge. He didn't remember this having ever happened in Troy, but back then he had hardly had any business with Odysseus.

"Your ankle," Odysseus finally revealed.

Confused, Paris looked downwards to his legs but couldn't see what Odysseus was referring to.

"The first time I saw you I noticed the charm you wore. I have never seen you without it."

The charm the Ithacan spoke of was made of strands of wool with wooden beads woven into it. It had broken once and then been repaired using horsehair.

"Did Hector make it for you?"

"He fixed it for me, yes, but he didn't make it for me originally."

Odysseus did not ask to elaborate, sensing somehow Paris' unwillingness and instead only inquired:

"Do you miss your brother?"

"Hector, yes, and Andromache too, but none of the others."

Paris' voice had become hard when he thought of Troy. He had sworn himself to be stronger and not have his life dictated to him. So far, he did not feel as if he had kept that promise.

They left the port and, eventually, the town behind. Paris ached to take off his coat and breathe free air again, but he decided to silently follow Odysseus' example, as the man had not yet dropped his masquerade. And so they continued along the coast through high grass and over rocky ground, following a path Paris could not see.

"Do I need to take your luggage?" Odysseus suddenly inquired.

"I'm sorry?"

"You look as if you are exhausted. Already."

Paris threw Odysseus a black look at his patronizing tone, but the king didn't seem to even notice.

"My feet hurt. I ran through the whole night and didn't always see the rocks! But don't worry. There was a time when I wasn't a prince and actually worked. So I can carry my own luggage."

Now Odysseus turned to him in surprise.

"Really? I didn't know that."

"Of course you didn't." Paris wasn't in the mood to elaborate.

"You'll have to tell me about it sometime."

"Maybe."

Paris was reminded that not even Achilles knew about his earliest days, when he grew up as the son of a shepherd; the realization irritated him. The Ithacan realized that Paris did not want to continue their talk and so they spent the rest of the way in silence.

The land dropped slightly, replacing the mountainous landscape with a small strip of beach. There, Paris was finally able to catch sight of Odysseus' ship.

The ship was smaller than the one the Myrmidons had used to cross the Aegean for Troy, but this was not a warship, of course. The sails were a dirty white and blew gently in the wind. On top of the mast, Paris was able to make out a man: the lookout who had just spied his king returning and called down to the others on board.

As a small group of Ithacan soldiers came to greet them, Paris felt almost giddy at the prospect of the long journey ahead.

* * *

Again my thanks goes to Litrouke who served as my beta and made this chapter readable. All remaining mistakes are mine.

Next chapter: 'Who are you?' An attempt at explaining Paris-Alexandros and what is Achilles actually _doing_ in Messenia?

**Thanks for reading and please leave a review; **no need to be shy ;-)


	7. Who are you?

_Edited: May 2010_

* * *

**Chapter 7: Who are you?**

The first and last time Paris had stepped on a ship had been just after his bonding to Achilles, and that voyage had been to take him to his new home – Phthia.

Thus he had been rather preoccupied with other things than the ship and the manner of steering it. At the time, he had been caught between his apprehension of the warrior and murderer Achilles and his attraction for a man so different than he. The one thing he had learnt about ships was that there was no way to escape. But often, his fear had simply been overridden by the almost unbearable lust burning within him, which could only be soothed by the Greek.

On this voyage, however, Paris found himself alone and, once again, as taskless as he could only imagine a crippled man being. Odysseus had introduced him to the crew, but obviously preferred Paris to be far from them. The Ithacan King himself was busy "commanding", or so he said; as far as the Trojan could see, the ship commanded itself rather well without him.

The sea was calm and the Trojan thought the slow bobbing of the boat rather boring. He had tried counting the planks, then the birds circling the sky above them.

Finally, Paris met the Ithacan King on deck and asked him, "Is there nothing I can do?" Amused, Odysseus studied the slender Trojan; his eyes lingered for some time on the strangely shapely hips.

"You said that you had worked. Tell me, was it on a ship?"

Paris was forced to deny. "No. But I could learn."

Odysseus shook his head. "This isn't a pleasure cruise and even if you weren't who you are, we wouldn't have the time to teach you."

"And who am I that makes it impossible for you to consider me an equal?"

"Who are you indeed? I wondered about that myself since the first time that I saw you, standing in your father's hall at your brother's arm … like a priceless treasure…"

Odysseus' eyes seemed to penetrate him. He studied him as if trying to discover his deepest and most shameful secrets, to find his reason for living. Then, aware that his intense gaze was beginning to make Paris restless, Odysseus' eyes softened and there was an emotion in them that Paris could not quite name. Was it longing? Longing for what?

"Who are you indeed?" Odysseus asked again and this time his gaze met the Trojan's. Paris did not answer. There had been times when he had asked that question himself, but never had he found an answer to satisfy him. Once he had even asked Hector.

"You are Paris," had been his brother's answer, confused as to why Paris was even asking. "You're you. You're my brother." But this had not helped Paris then, nor did it now.

"I will die," Paris finally said. Odysseus' eyes widened in alarm.

"Of boredom," the young prince explained. Odysseus let out a breath of both relief and amusement.

"There I cannot help you," Odysseus replied. "I am sure that Achilles provided better entertainment for you on your voyage to Phthia." Again, Odysseus wore a strange look as he studied Paris, who, to his own horror, blushed a bright red. Odysseus grinned knowingly and Paris quickly turned away.

His eyes fell on his sword belt lying forgotten on the wooden planks. He had discarded the weapon as it was still an unfamiliar weight around his waist. A different idea came to him; with blazing eyes, he turned abruptly back.

"Teach me how to use a sword!" he demanded of Odysseus.

"No," the King answered, "absolutely not." Determinedly, Odysseus shook his head. Paris wanted to convince him, make him change his mind, but before he could even open his mouth, the Ithacan stepped so near that Paris could feel his breath. "And there will be no discussion about this. You are not a warrior! You may be Hector's brother but your tasks are not the same! And if you even dare to contradict me or continue to pester me, I will have this ship turned around and we will sail straight for Troy where I will hand you over to your brother personally!"

Paris stepped back slightly in apprehension; Odysseus had never raised his voice to him and his usually quite pleasant manner had made Paris believe that the Ithacan did not possess a temper such as Achilles or Hector did. Evidently he had been wrong. Deciding that he had pushed too far already, Paris did not dare to disobey and dropped his challenging gaze. Seeing his purpose fulfilled, Odysseus left the Trojan.

And so the days passed slowly for Paris as he watched the crew work, Odysseus command, and the waves glitter in the sunlight. Odysseus would have liked to take Paris' sword from him, but this was a line he found he could not cross. The sword was Achilles', and his consort had not received it from just anyone, but from Thetis who, with her foresight, must have had good reason to do so.

Paris knew enough about the sun's position to be able to tell that they were sailing south. Had he known the lay of the land (or if Odysseus had bothered to tell him), he would also have known that they were passing close to the coast and were planning to round the island Euboea. Then, the ship would cross the part of the Aegean most spotted with small islands and pass by the coasts of Argolis and Laconia before finally reaching Messenia.

On days when the sun was particularly hot, Odysseus permitted his men to refresh themselves by taking a dive into the water, which usually also led to some fun and entertainment. Paris had been quite astonished by this, as before then, he had only seen these men (or rather their allies) as hardened warriors in battle against his hometown. As much as he would also like to join, he did not dare to, always conscious of his differences. Although nothing could be seen from the outside besides his womanish hips, the looks would be unavoidable.

And so instead, he baked in the midday sun while the soldiers went into the water. Odysseus had already taken his turn, then returned on board and dressed in his chiton, while the others were nude and alternating between climbing on board and swimming.

They even made a game of who could climb fastest the rope on deck. A loud laugh turned Paris' attention to a young Ithacan who had just been beaten by an older comrade but took it humorously. His name was Phytheas if the Trojan remembered correctly, and the youth was actually the youngest on board, younger even than Paris. The older warrior smiled at Phytheas, but the younger man's attention had already turned elsewhere. The older man leant particularly close and put an arm around Phytheas' shoulders.

Phytheas was young, training to be a fully-recognized warrior and his youthful body already showed the beginning of muscle. His waist was narrow as opposed to his broad shoulders – an ideal picture of male beauty and as such desired by many men.

Paris watched the older man try to court Phytheas but he did not appear to be entirely successful: the youth's attention wandered again to finally settle on a different man quite near Paris. Phytheas threw him a smile; the Trojan followed his gaze and saw Odysseus returning it.

Then Phytheas realized that the Trojan was watching. The young Ithacan's grin waned and he turned away to dive into the sea, disappearing from Paris' view and the older Greeks' attention.

Odysseus had noticed Phytheas' sudden change in manner and so his eyes soon turned to Paris. Tension was still high between him and the Trojan since he had denied Paris lessons in sword fighting some days ago; they had barely exchanged any words since.

The Ithacan King rubbed a hand along his stubbled jaw, a gesture he had come to use when he was nervous or contemplating. He took a step towards Paris, sought his gaze and willed himself to say something; anything, just to end this ridiculous silence between them.

But Paris blatantly turned his back. Once again the Trojan chose to avoid all talk and watch the waves instead. Odysseus was left to despair.

* * *

"You are cheating! I swear you are a cheater and next time I will catch you doing it!"

Achilles only grinned. "I don't cheat. Playing against you, I don't have to." He threw the dice onto the ground between them. "I won." Achilles' smile was more than triumphant.

Ajax growled angrily.

"Now you will get it, son of Peleus, and no nymph-blood will save you!"

Ajax reached for the sword he had put off before gambling, but Achilles immediately threw himself atop the bigger man. Size was not everything and Achilles had the advantage of superior speed.

The wrestling that ensued caused numerous tables to be upturned, Achilles' bedding to be strewn all over the tent, and pottery to be broken into dozens of little shards. Ajax's furious shouts could probably be heard all over camp, and the bruises they inflicted upon each other would be visible for days. Despite the clearly audible commotion (or maybe because of it) nobody dared to enter the tent to see what was happening.

Once, Ajax managed to get his hands around Achilles' neck and cut off his air-supply, but a kick to his stomach forced him to let go only moments later. Achilles followed the kick with a strong punch to the jaw.

Neither was able to keep the upper hand for long, and so the fight ended with a draw, both warriors lying next to each other on their backs and trying to recover their breathing as well as the ability to move their abused and aching limps.

"A good fight," Ajax laughed loudly.

Grinning, Achilles had to agree. So far the war in Messenia – which was actually little more than a conflict – had left him wanting.

"Now the only thing missing is a pair of legs around my waist," the huge warrior continued with an unmistakable rub to his groin.

"Well I'm not sorry to say that I won't be that pair of legs," the blond Hellene answered.

Ajax laughed even more uproariously.

"Well, you left your pair of legs at home. And a fine one at that."

"I thought your preferences lay with women," Achilles commented dryly.

Ajax shrugged, not even bothering to think that Achilles might have been affronted. "What difference does it make with yours?"

Achilles did not react.

"We could have conquered Troy."

"Maybe," Achilles answered though actually he did not doubt it in the least, "with many losses and only after a long siege."

"What are men's lives against glory?" Ajax neared him on all fours which might have given any other person the impression of a panther. Ajax reminded Achilles of a lot of things but an elegant cat did not come to his mind. A bull figured rather prominently however; long-haired, too, if such an animal even existed.

"Think about it! A thousand years from now, our names on people's lips! By the gods, I would have loved to force that Trojan prince to his knees!"

Now Achilles raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"

"Hector, of course. Why did you marry his brother anyway? After conquering Troy, you could have taken him as your slave and done anything you liked! Instead you are sitting here again, waiting for a second chance at glory after throwing away your first!"

Angrily, Achilles stood. "Now you are going too far!"

Ajax' smile was twisted. "I shouldn't be surprised that you cannot look truth in the face!"

"Out!" The blond warrior commanded.

The other man only let out a disgusted grunt before leaving without a backward glance.

Frustrated, Peleus' son threw himself on the remainders of his bed. Yes, he was furious that Ajax had forced him to consider once more the question that had plagued him for quite some time now: why had he agreed to marry Paris? And more importantly, another comment by Ajax had made him wonder who he had agreed to bind himself to: "_What difference does it make with yours?_" What was male or female about the youth he had left at home alone with only Patroclus as his confidant?

Eventually Achilles fell into an uneasy sleep, filled with images of a smooth face framed by curled hair, a body lying on a rumpled bed…but there was nothing beautiful about the scene, for the youth lay with the empty, staring eyes of a victim to abuse, and blood and bruises marred his body. In the morning, Achilles would curse Ajax for his suggestion.

* * *

I'm sorry for the long wait and I hope you feel it was worth it. I'll try to be quicker on the next chapter. Thanks goes to **Litrouke**, my beta.

Next chapter: 'Shipwrecked'. _Do I really have to say what it will be about? And anyway, you didn't seriously think it would be this easy? Not with Odysseus on board. _Also: Aphrodite pays a visit to Achilles and is the bringer of news he doesn't like at all.

**Thank you for reading and please review.**


	8. Shipwrecked

_Edited: May 2010_

**Beta: Litrouke; as always, thank you very much for your help.**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Shipwrecked**

Sunrays warmed his face when he woke; Paris opened his eyes to find that he was lying beneath the canvas of a tent. For a moment, he felt confused. He knew that Odysseus, as commander of the ship, had a small tent on deck for his privacy, but the Trojan was certain that he had fallen asleep outside.

Near him, he heard the noise of stone gliding against metal.

"Did you carry me here?" Paris asked before turning onto his other side to see the other person inside the tent.

The noise halted for an instant. Odysseus looked up from his work, surprised that the youth was awake. "Yes," he finally answered. Paris noted that the Ithacan was sitting turned towards him. Had he been watching the Trojan sleep? It was a question he would not ask.

"What time is it?" seemed to be a suitable alternative to Paris.

"Almost noon," Odysseus answered. He laid the whetstone aside and put the sword back into its sheath before leaving the tent.

Paris, slightly put off at the king's abrupt manner, lifted the skins that covered him and noted to his relief that he was fully dressed. The King, however, soon reentered the tent, a bowl in his hand with breakfast.

Paris blushed slightly at having thought the Ithacan uncouth, stammered his thanks and quickly ate what appeared to be fish broth.

"We might come into bad weather today," Odysseus informed him, "so I would like you to stay close to me. At sea, a storm can be dangerous and more sudden than anticipated. I would not want you to fall overboard."

The Trojan nodded.

"How far do we still have until we reach Messenia?"

"Messenia is farther from Thessaly than Troy. Today we will most likely pass Euboea; we will have to sail between Euboea and Andros, then pass a few other islands until we will land near Sparta. We will continue then on horses, which Menelaus will have to lend us."

"What is Messenia like?" Paris himself had never been far from Troy before sailing to Phthia. But if he was to succeed in this mission he would have to learn about the province as much as he could. "Why is there war now?"

Odysseus sat cross-legged, assuming that this would be a longer tale, and shifted into a comfortable position leaning against a tent pole behind him. "Do you remember Nestor?"

"I do," Paris answered and had to repress a shudder.

"Ah, yes, I remember now. He was with you when Patroclus examined you, wasn't he?" Paris only nodded without meeting his eyes. "Nestor was Messenia's king. Shortly after his return from Troy he died and his son was very young - in some people's eyes too young to rule. He was killed and another man succeeded him. Agamemnon was not pleased as the new king was less willing to do his bidding than Nestor was and so he declared war."

"Is it that easy?" Paris asked sadly, looking inquiringly at Odysseus; the incomprehension on the prince's face was a needless reminder of his naiveté. "Whoever has more power gets the throne?"

Somewhat grimly, Odysseus nodded his head. "That is basically the way of it. My father did not die, but he gave the kingship to me because he knew that I would be more capable of remaining in power; had I stayed any longer in Troy, my house would surely have been ruled by chaos by the time I returned. The people, they do not care who rules them as long as the ruler is just and occasionally solves the petty spats between them. One cannot rely on peasants to support you, and there are always people willing to prey on the ruler and their power because they want it for themselves."

"Aischylos," Paris commented.

Odysseus had meanwhile learnt the name of the man who had threatened to usurp Peleus; the Ithacan again nodded gravely.

"Peleus' guarantee for his continued rule was Achilles. When Achilles decided to go to Messenia…" the king did not finish but only shrugged. "I wondered about this anyway. As I said, Messenia is a small province. Most of its soldiers are weakened from battle in Troy; it should be easy for Agamemnon to regain power. He did not need Achilles for that, unlike on his previous conquests. Yet he sent for him. This, too, was done because of power. Achilles has never respected Agamemnon; during the siege of Troy, Achilles' disrespect even changed to outright disobedience."

Odysseus looked at the prince, who heard for the first time about the conflicts between kings and leaders, things that Hector and Priam had always kept from him. Paris wanted dearly to understand the happenings in the world, now that he was traveling in it, and listened eagerly to the king.

"Maybe Achilles marrying you was another form of trying to spite Agamemnon," Odysseus mused. A wounded look abruptly crossed Paris face and he was about to throw in that it had been Agamemnon himself who had agreed to the negotiations and then the wedding. But Odysseus waved a hand and declared:

"No matter. In any case, it seems that Agamemnon sought to demonstrate that Achilles would still come at his every beck and call. Which Achilles, as much as it still astonishes me to say, did. A mistake on his part as it led to the impending overthrow of Peleus and his cousin's injury, and this is how we ended up here." Sighing, Odysseus stood. "Ah, boy, the day that humanity learns not to make war will never come."

"Will love then ever be secondary to man's greed?" Paris inquired sadly.

"As a wife to her husband. Come now, let's go outside. You need some sun; you look awfully pale," the king said and bid Paris to stand. How was the Trojan to make Odysseus understand that the reason of his paleness was due to the thoughts running around Paris' head?

The Ithacan's thoughtless comment that Achilles had possibly only married him to annoy Agamemnon and that Paris' desire for love might never be met for reasons of both the general, universal injustice and Achilles himself, had made him feel miserable very quickly.

On deck, the mood had changed as opposed to the day before: the men seemed more serious, less eager for distraction. Every once in a while they would study carefully the sky for any signs of an approaching storm.

Paris did as Odysseus had asked and stayed near the king. Until noon, there was nothing. Paris only noticed the change when Odysseus came to him and remarked,

"What did I say?" and indicated the sky. And truly, the sky had turned abruptly black and it seemed that they wouldn't escape the weather but only sail deeper into it.

Odysseus took his arm and kept a hold on him while ordering his men to prepare. The sails were taken down.

"What now?" Paris asked nervously.

The Ithacan king turned to look at him. "We ride it out."

His answer in no way reassured Paris.

The storm that raged tore at the ship, whipping ferociously around them; rain fell as if the gods themselves were emptying buckets of water, and they were drenched within minutes. Bolts of lightning reached from the clouds to the rough sea like thin, gnarled tree branches, creating short-lived, bright links between Zeus' and Poseidon's realms. They provided an earthly spectacle impressive to look at but also a dangerous one: should the flashes catch the ship's high mast, their vessel would very likely go up in flames. The thunder which followed them sounded so close Paris was tempted to hold his ears. Odysseus had moved to the middle of the ship where he held onto the mast with one arm, while the other was around Paris who clung to him and the mast in turn.

The Ithacan king had braved storms before, had laughed like a madman while encouraging his men to go through them, though right now he could not remember any as bad as this one. Still, he was confident that they would get through it unscathed; then they would have to go back on route, because as far as he could tell, they were being thrown off-course.

On a sudden impulse he ordered Paris, "Stay here and-" he pushed Paris against the mast- "don't let go," and left to fight his way to the prow.

The Trojan called out to Odysseus, but the king either ignored it or hadn't heard because he continued toward the prow.

The Ithacan wanted to see where they were, but around them all was gray; the rain impeded his vision and the wind threatened to throw him from the ship.

The other crewmembers were holding on to whatever they could: masts, the railing, each other, even the floor planks in some cases. Odysseus cursed; he was responsible for them. He quickly checked on Phytheas but he seemed to be doing fine. Paris was the next person he checked; he did not wish to tell Achilles that he had lost his consort during a storm. No matter what Odysseus had insinuated about his feelings towards Paris, the whole affair was just too obscure for him to say how the warrior would react. Though the Trojan looked frightened, he expected him to be able to hold on for a while longer.

Finally, he reached the prow but it was of no use. As he tried to squint his way through the dark, rain stung painfully in his eyes like grit and dripped down his cheeks in an impersonation of tears. He could see nothing but water around him.

He stayed there, hoping for a respite. And really, there seemed to be one and Odysseus used the opportunity to return to Paris.

"What were you doing?" the Trojan shouted into his ear to be heard over the noise.

"Trying to make out where we are."

The Trojan had relaxed his grip on the mast and did not reach out for the Ithacan even as the storm calmed.

"It's going to be over soon, isn't it?"

A violent rock of the ship jerked Paris away from the mast, and Odysseus caught him by the waist, drawing him close to his body for protection.

"Think again; that was just the eye of the storm," the king told him.

The Trojan's eyes widened and his grip tightened. The ship's rocking increased again; it was thrown from side to side as if the waves were playing ball with it, and the wood groaned dangerously.

"Better pray to Poseidon," Odysseus called and when Paris looked at him he could see that a grim look had replaced the Ithacan's previously confident manner.

The Trojan ducked his head down to shield himself from both the rain and having to face the worsening situation.

The Ithacans' shouts were unable to penetrate the roaring of the waves, howling of the wind, and splashing of rain, but Odysseus soon took notice of his men's frenzied behavior. They called out to him, pointing their fingers to the side.

It took Odysseus time – later, he would think too much time – to make out a dark wall; it took him time to realize that it was approaching fast because their ship was being driven towards it, and it took him time to become aware that the dark wall was not a phenomena of the weather, but land – a cliff side, to be precise.

"Jump!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, fearing that not everybody would hear him, but the fact that he was tearing Paris towards the opposite railing would hopefully make the men aware of his intentions. Had they been going for a frontal crash, staying at the opposite end of the boat might have helped, but from the side, Odysseus did not want to risk it and hoped for a greater chance at survival in the water instead.

Paris was unable to understand the reason for the Ithacan's actions and looking towards the direction the ship was heading did not help him. He did not have time for thought anyway, because they had reached the railing and Odysseus was propelling them both over it; Paris barely had the time to hold his breath before they hit the water.

And again the Trojan had to fight water; later he would think that Poseidon had decided to curse him for some reason. At that moment, however, he was busier trying to hang on to – but not impede – Odysseus, and instead somehow help their quest to avoid being smashed against rocks right behind the ship.

How Odysseus knew in which direction to swim, Paris had no idea, or if their attempt was actually in vain, he did not wish contemplate either. Instead, he simply followed the king's lead. Water threatened to choke him but with Odysseus' help, he managed to stay over water.

He was barely conscious when the ground suddenly rose under his feet; he leant heavily on Odysseus who could not do anymore than stumble either. Still, they managed to leave the water entirely. Then, however, blackness surrounded Paris and he fell into unconsciousness, Odysseus only moments behind him.

* * *

Achilles felt dissatisfied. Messenia was in no way a challenge to him and only contributed to his frustration first caused by Ajax.

He stomped into his tent and violently threw down shield and sword. Struggling in removing his armor, he finally called for a slave in irritation.

The young woman trembled as she unclasped the straps holding metal in place, conscious of the hard gaze he directed downwards at the back of her head.

Her hair was of a dark brown and fell in dirty, tangled waves over her shoulders and down her back. She was not Trojan – Cretan instead, if Achilles remembered correctly.

Still, the color of her hair reminded him of somebody else and for lack of something else to do, he considered ordering her into his bed and mounting her from behind while pretending that she was male.

The flap at the entrance was lifted and a hooded person entered. Achilles could feel the swirls of power surrounding them but the slave cowering at his feet seemed unaware of it.

"Go," he ordered her before she could also remove his skirt.

Glad as she was to escape him, she did not wonder at it but simply high-tailed it out of the hut.

The fact that she did not even glance at the figure still standing at his entrance made Achilles certain that only he was aware of her.

The hood was thrown back and revealed the embodiment of eternal beauty in female form. Bare, white arms showed beneath the cloak and a smooth fabric, which was almost sheer, covered her in form of a chiton.

Achilles knew her power and he turned away from it, uninterested in her loveliness and pleasant face.

"What do you seek here of all places?" the warrior asked. "War is not your field,"

"I came to see you."

Achilles couldn't help raise a surprised eyebrow at her.

"I came to look upon the man I permitted to take my most devoted follower and who then abandoned him."

"I did not abandon him," Achilles argued though he knew that it was true in a way.

"Of course you did," the goddess responded promptly as the warrior should have known she would. "You abandoned him to intrigue and danger. I should let the spark of affection fade from Paris-Alexandros' heart and have him love somebody else instead, who is more willing and does not turn his heart to stone, but welcomes him into it."

Achilles glowered at her. "I fulfilled my task as a husband: I bedded him and I protected him."

"You did not sink your hardness into him for love but to slake your lust. And do not deny that you were considering satisfying yourself crudely with that slave thinking of him! I can see your desires well!"

The Myrmidon's jaw clenched with repressed anger at both himself and the goddess for forcing him.

"What do you mean I abandoned him to danger?" he asked instead.

Wordlessly, she glided past him and turned towards a bowl of water meant for washing. She seemed to put something into it or maybe she was simply dipping her hand into it to encourage the water to movement.

"Look," she ordered.

Cautiously, Achilles approached. It was a bowl of water, he thought, what was he supposed to look for in it? But the water swirled and there were images within, so he leant closer and concentrated on trying to make out what they showed.

The water cleared and showed him Paris, lying limply on rocky ground near the sea; his chiton was stiff with saltwater, as was his hair, and he seemed to be sleeping. It took a moment for Achilles to recognize the man sitting next to him who had suffered an injury to his leg, but was leaning over the Trojan prince and tenderly lifting salty hair from his face.

Achilles laughed uproariously. "You want to make Odysseus fall in love with him? When he is so devoted to his Penelope?"

The goddess threw him a black look. "Do you doubt my ability to do that? But no, I wasn't planning that."

Achilles looked back into the water and continued to watch Paris. The Trojan still did not move and there was a slight scratch on his head to which clung dried blood. Abruptly Achilles realized that he was unconscious and he felt anxious.

"What happened?"

Aphrodite had to suppress a smug smile at the Greek's obvious worry. Maybe he wasn't as hopeless as she had thought, but that didn't change her plans to give Paris a choice.

"They were shipwrecked on their way to you. Why they wanted to reach you or their message is irrelevant. For now, they are stranded on an island in the Aegean and it will be some time before you will see Paris again." _If at all,_ she added mentally to herself.

The Myrmidon glared at her.

"I can tell my men right now to pack up and look for him."

"And how would you find Paris – who could be anywhere on one of the dozens of islands in this sea – without help? No, son of Thetis, you stay here and wait for him as you expected Paris to wait for you in Phthia."

She passed him, and while he wanted to reach out to her and grasp her wrist to force her to tell him exactly what was going on, he could not move a muscle. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a head of golden hair and Achilles realized that the goddess of love alone would not be capable of showing him what was happening in another part of Greece. She had asked her brother for help and of course Troy's patron would not allow him to put his hand on her in anger. Achilles thought he could see Apollo throw him a smug grin, but then he had already gone, and when Achilles turned back to the bowl of water it was just that: a bowl of water.

* * *

_And another chapter done. I'm sorry it takes me almost a month in between chapters but my beta and I need time to work on the chapters before posting them. **Thank you for reading and please leave a review.**_

Chaper 9: "The Wine of Mykonos": Paris gets his first sword lesson, meets a man he could fall in love with and Odysseus ruins everything._ (For more check my profile; I'll post some lines of Chapter 9 soon.)  
_


	9. The Wine of Mykonos

_Beta: Litrouke_

_Author's note: Blame it on me reading so much LotR Aragorn/Legolas but I just couldn't resist: Viggo Mortensen/Aragorn inspired my Thales. He is not an exact copy of neither Aragorn nor the actor, mainly because he is older here but his nobleness makes him a perfect substitute for when Odysseus falls from grace._

* * *

**Chapter 9: The Wine of Mykonos**

The dark sky of night was the first thing Paris saw. Stars blinked down at him in a friendly manner or maybe they were actually mocking him, Paris could not tell. What did stars do all night long anyway? The fact that he was wondering about such a thing at all was the second reason that he was certain he must have hit his head sometime during the storm; the first reason being the splitting headache he felt pounding behind his eyes.

The surface beneath him was grass; the scent of it invaded his nose, but stronger than that was the smell of burning wood. He could discern hushed voices of men talking, the pop and crackle of a campfire and the distant noise of waves lapping at a beach. Sight, smell and hearing: feeling slightly better prepared at confronting full consciousness and awareness, he slowly turned his head to the side.

In the low light of the camp fire sat a group of warriors, battered but hale, and he recognized them as friends. Odysseus he could make out as well and he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

He strained to sit up; his body felt so leaden and beaten that he groaned. Odysseus immediately came and knelt next to him.

"Did everyone make it?" Paris asked quietly.

"All but one," Odysseus nodded.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. And it could have been much worse."

The Trojan did not know what to say.

"All of our shipload has been washed away. Two of my men are in search of food but I don't know if or when they will find anything. We may all very well go hungry tonight."

"I understand."

Odysseus reached out a hand to his face and the Trojan watched its approach warily. It settled on his forehead and turned his head for a better view.

"You hit your head there, but it's only a slight scratch. It will heal in a few days."

The Trojan only nodded. He still did not feel wholly conscious. Or maybe it was still the aftermath of the shock that made him feel so tired and numb.

"Thank you," Paris said abruptly, "for rescuing me."

Odysseus looked as if he wanted to comment, but finally he simply nodded his head.

"There is a small stream not far from here where you can wash off," he said instead.

Paris gave a nod. "That would be good." He stood slowly; his knees shook and for a moment he felt himself falter, causing Odysseus to put a steadying hand under his elbow.

"Can you go alone?"

"Yes, don't worry about me. Where is it?"

"That direction," Odysseus answered, gesturing with his hand to one side.

"I'll find it."

The ground was still wet from the rain, but the air was warm and dry, for which Paris was grateful. He would have to wash his clothes to get rid of the gritty salt and now he didn't even have anything to change into. It was all gone.

"No," he breathed and stopped abruptly as he realized that not only his clothes were gone: also Achilles' sword Thetis had given him and the apple from Aphrodite were lost.

But there was no use crying over it now; he would have to deal with it later, beg Aphrodite for forgiveness on his knees if necessary. He continued on his way, now even more miserable than before. The stream was thankfully not far from the campsite. Only a row of bushes blocked it from view and gave him an illusion of privacy as he stripped and stepped into the knee-high water.

A bath in the water was impossible but he wasn't in the mood for one anyway. Instead, he used the water to splash himself and wash the white salt off his skin. In some places he discovered bruises which explained the ache in his limbs, but all in all he was whole.

He washed his hair by kneeling and lowering his head into the water. Then he went to get his clothing and wash them as well.

He was so intent on his work that he did not realize he wasn't alone until the shifting of stone under sandals alerted him, and by then the Ithacan youth was already right behind him. Paris was glad that his crouched position hid his body from clear view.

"Phytheas?" Paris asked in confusion.

The Ithacan only nodded while his gaze rested on the Trojan.

"Why are you here?"

This seemed to jerk him out of the daze he was in because he lifted his eyes to Paris'.

"I think this is yours," he said and held out a belt at which hung a small leather bag and the sword Paris had already missed. "I found it on the beach."

Paris dropped the chiton he was trying to clean and immediately took the items off Phytheas' hands in relief. He opened the small bag; it wasn't his because the one he had brought had been much larger; but inside this one was the most important item: Aphrodite's gift. The sword seemed to be unscathed as well.

"Thank you, Phytheas. I had already thought them lost forever."

Phytheas gave a nervous smile. He was glad that he had made the Trojan happy but unsure on how to converse with him.

"You're not so different of us," he commented but immediately wished he hadn't. Paris had realized that he was standing completely nude in front of the Ithacan and blushed a bright red.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend," Phytheas tried to placate.

Paris sighed. "It's alright; many people think I should look like a woman."

An awkward silence settled over them. "I should leave," Phytheas finally said.

"No, please. I would like some company?" Paris' questioning tone betrayed his insecurity. The Trojan was just as nervous as the Ithacan, but the fact that Phytheas was the only one near his age made him want to at least try to find a connection to the other youth.

"Then I will stay," Phytheas smiled and Paris returned it.

The Trojan carefully laid the items on the ground.

"I just need to wash my chiton. It's full of salt," he said and returned to the stream to continue his washing.

"So was mine; I cleaned it earlier while you were still sleeping," Phytheas replied in understanding, sitting down next to Paris' belongings.

"How did you get off the ship?"

"I jumped like the others did and then swam to the shore." The Ithacan shrugged.

"I couldn't have reached land alone. I'm glad that Odysseus was there. The last time I swam alone, Patroclus had to fish me out," Paris laughed slightly in embarrassment.

"Patroclus is Achilles' cousin, isn't he?"

"Yes, they grew up together."

"He was in Troy with the Myrmidons. I had to stay at home because they said that I was too young." Phytheas looked down, still feeling the disappointment he had suffered when told that he would remain in Ithaca.

Paris didn't know what to say to that. Finally he offered,

"Patroclus said that he was only allowed to move about the camp; Achilles didn't want him to fight either."

"Why isn't Patroclus with you? Doesn't he want to join Achilles in Messenia? Or is he already there?" The Ithacan asked curiously. He was eager to catch a glimpse of Achilles, the most famous warrior in the Aegean; and while Patroclus was not as great as Achilles, meeting the Myrmidon's cousin would have made a great story to tell, too.

Paris paused with his scrubbing. "Patroclus was badly injured in Phthia. I don't even know if he survives or if he died the night I left." He wanted to beat himself up for not insisting on an answer when Thetis had told him to leave Phthia. Furiously, he resumed scrubbing.

"Oh," Phytheas said. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that." Trying to come up with another topic he suggested, "I think you should eat the apple. I mean, I don't know if the others will find something to eat but I don't think so and you must be hungry."

"I am, but that apple is not a normal fruit. It was a gift from Aphrodite."

Phytheas quickly dropped the apple he had been fingering back into the satchel. "From Aphrodite? Have you seen her?"

"I have," Paris nodded. "She is very beautiful."

"What does the apple mean?"

"I don't know. Thetis said to eat it when I saw Achilles again. Aphrodite must have had it taken to the beach when I lost it in the storm. The sword as well, even though I have no use for it."

"You may yet have to use it. We don't know where we are, and depending on if this island's people are enemies or friends you might have to fight. Almost all of the others lost their weapons in the shipwreck."

Finished with washing, Paris contemplated whether he should put on the wet tunic and preserve his dignity or leave it to dry. He decided to leave it and put it on a branch. Then he neared Phytheas, who had decided that the sword was probably less dangerous to play with than the apple.

"Thetis gave it to me; she said that it had belonged to Achilles when he was younger. I have never had a sword of my own before."

Phytheas looked at him in astonishment. "Never? Do you know then how to use it?"

"That's exactly it: I don't. I asked Odysseus to teach me but he refused."

When Phytheas locked eyes with Paris, they shone with determination. "Wait here."

He jumped up and quickly disappeared behind the bushes. After a short while he returned with his own sword.

"I will teach you," he grinned, happy to have found something to do with the Trojan. "Go on, pick it up."

Paris did as he was told and unsheathed the sword carefully. It was the first time that he had done so with any sword.

"Now get into stance. Spread your legs and put your right foot before the other; bend your knees more." Phytheas was very enthusiastic about giving lessons but Paris was less so.

"I'm naked! I can't!" He protested. "It's embarrassing."

"Of course you can. Warriors train naked all the time."

Paris wanted to respond that he was no warrior but Phytheas insisted. "Come on, you can do it."

The Trojan tried to imitate the Ithacan youth's stance. Then Phytheas proceeded to show him how to swing the sword in an attack.

"And this is how you block," Phytheas told him with a flurry of movement that was just a little too fast for Paris to fully comprehend. But then, blocking and attacking couldn't be too hard, could it?

Paris' spirits and tenacity raised; he decided that he could learn this. He fueled Phytheas' eagerness to teach and soon they decided that they could forego further solo practice. It was Paris who suggested a mock combat and Phytheas readily agreed, happy to see his student catching on so fast.

Phytheas attacked and Paris danced out of the way before responding with his own attack, which was blocked by the young Ithacan. Again it was Phytheas' turn to attack and Paris blocked – barely, but he did. Spurred on by his success, Paris decided to try and speed up his attacks; Phytheas did the same and the next time he attacked, Paris' defense broke under the onslaught and the Ithacan was unable to stay his hand. Phytheas' sharp blade caught Paris on the upper arm and drew blood, making the Trojan cry out in pain.

"Stop!" a harsh voice shouted. Phytheas had already dropped his blade and wanted to take a look at Paris' injury.

"I'm sorry, Paris, I didn't mean to do that! It was an accident!"

"Don't worry Phytheas, I know it's not your fault," the Trojan tried to smile at Phytheas but the thunderous expression on Odysseus' face, who strode towards them, made it quite shaky.

"Phytheas, go back to the others. We will speak later about this!" Odysseus ordered. The Ithacan youth knew that he had upset the king severely and that he could be whipped for this if the king decided to. He did the wise thing and left quickly.

Paris had reflexively covered the cut with his hand. He lifted it now to look at the wound.

"It is only slight," he said.

Odysseus took a look at it as well and agreed grudgingly. "Serves you right for getting up to such nonsense."

Instantly Paris' ire was raised. "Well what was I supposed to do? Do you think that Thetis gave me the sword for show? She said that if I am to survive this, then I will have to learn how to use it! And you refused to teach me! You don't even know where we are, or if the people who live here are friends or not!"

Angrily he threw the sword to the ground and went back to the stream to wash off the blood. Then he proceeded to rip off a small strip of his chiton and tried to wrap it one-handed around his arm. Odysseus ignored the black look the Trojan gave him when he came to help and tied the makeshift bandage off.

Paris turned away from the Ithacan to dress. Meanwhile Odysseus picked up the sword and sheathed it.

"I will keep this for now. There is no sense in you injuring yourself further. One of the reasons I would not teach you was that one doesn't use keen blades in practice. A fact which Phytheas should have known well."

Paris stared hard at the King in silence.

Odysseus sighed but the harsh set of his jaw did not ease. "You might have a point about your need to learn. I realize that Thetis must have had reason to give you a weapon. However, right now I am responsible for you; the gods know how hard a duty that is. I will not teach you tonight because what you and Phytheas did was careless and were you one of mine, I would punish you. But you are not and I have to think about how to handle this situation without angering Achilles when I tell him."

Paris did not particularly like to hear that the Ithacan King wanted to punish him. But he realized that if Hector were here, he would at the very least give him a lecture until his ears rang. So he accepted Odysseus' words with a nod and allowed himself to be escorted back to the campfire.

* * *

When Paris woke, it was morning and the other men were already up.

"You can drink something at the stream; then we will leave," Odysseus told him. Paris was quick to follow the suggestion as his throat was parched. His stomach was empty as well but that couldn't be helped. The two Ithacans Odysseus had sent in search of a meal had not found any food, but caught sight of a nearby village instead.

After taking a drink, Paris took a look around the camp to search for Phytheas; he caught sight of him and wanted to join him, ask if Odysseus had done anything. But the King held him back.

"I won't have you two off conspiring again, you hear? Keep away from him if you want to spare him a whipping."

Paris' eyes widened at the threat, then narrowed in anger, but he followed Odysseus' order.

When they broke camp and left, Odysseus walked at the head of the group with Paris and a large, burly warrior named Cleisthenes right behind him. After them came the other Ithacans and at the end was Phytheas, far away from the temptation the Trojan posed (at least in Odysseus' opinion).

The village the scouts had seen the day before was really nothing much. A few houses of wood and clay formed a rough circle; the villagers seemed to be mostly farmers who looked suspiciously at the visitors. The women were sent back into the houses, the farmers held fast onto their work tools. Achilles would have laughed at that but Odysseus simply didn't want any trouble and tried to show it by lifting his hands in a defenseless pose.

"What do you want?" A man stepped into their path, younger than Odysseus but obviously old enough to have been elected the villagers' spokesman. He was holding onto a sturdy staff used for plowing and Odysseus knew that should he prove to be an enemy, the farmer would have no problems wielding the staff as a substitute for a weapon.

"We have been shipwrecked during the storm yesterday. We do not know where we are and would ask for help." Odysseus had been both cursed and complimented on his honeyed tongue and his usage of it. It did not completely lose its effect on the man in front of him. The farmer's fist on his staff unclenched slightly.

"This is the isle of Mykonos," he finally said. "I can take you to the king."

"That would be helpful, yes," Odysseus agreed.

He had never been to Mykonos himself, nor had anyone he knew associations with the small island. Agamemnon had not turned his eye on this idyll and Odysseus doubted that he ever would. It was simply too small.

The farmer went to calm the other villagers' anxiousness before he returned to be their guide.

Their guide introduced himself as Damian and told them that it would take until late afternoon to reach the king's house. While travelling, Odysseus involved the farmer in conversation. He learnt that the king's name was Thales and that he had a son, but no wife. King Thales spent his time travelling between Mykonos and Delos, where the majority of his subjects lived and the gods were worshipped. According to legend, the twin deities Apollo and Artemis had been born on Delos. Thus, Mykonos' wine was in especially high demand for the seasonal rituals.

Paris did not speak. Odysseus was extracting information from Damian and Phytheas was forbidden territory. The Trojan had even tried falling back to escape Odysseus' attention but the Ithacan king's warning gaze had quickly caused him to return to his side.

As Damian had predicted, they reached their destination before evening. Had Paris not known that the house was a king's, he would never have guessed it. Peleus' palace was already smaller than Priam's, but this abode was definitely not a palace. It was a house, admittedly larger than a farmer's but not up to Hector's summerhouse. Still, it was made of good stone and would keep any bad weather out effortlessly. A low wall surrounded the building, the neighboring training grounds, and a garden. A definite asset of the house was the breath-taking view of the sea. Paris realized that they had simply crossed from the north coast to the west coast of the island.

No guards could be seen until they were almost to the house's door. But they were there, watching closely, as the Ithacans soon noticed when Damian knocked and five armed men appeared.

Damian introduced them and then took his leave. Paris, Odysseus and his men were led to the inner court to refresh themselves with water while the king was informed of their arrival.

Thales' entrance made Paris look up with only mild interest. He was tired and wished to leave everything to Odysseus; it wasn't as if he had a choice anyway. But Thales' aura quickly captured him.

"I am Thales, King of Delos and Mykonos," he said. Thales must have been in his forties, yet his shoulder-length hair was slightly streaked with gray. The sun had tanned his skin a darker color than Achilles', but a pair of sparkling gray eyes lit up his features. What immediately impressed Paris, however, was his demeanor: it was so regal one might have thought him king of all of Greece instead of two minuscule islands.

"Odysseus, King of Ithaca," Odysseus sketched a bow with his head.

"I have heard of you," Thales nodded. He studied the group behind Odysseus. Paris couldn't help but be surprised when the intense eyes caught his gaze. The Trojan lifted his chin slightly in interest and stared back.

"We are on our way to Messenia and were shipwrecked," Odysseus broke their stare by addressing King Thales; if he was aware or not of what had occurred, Paris did not have the mind to find out. He was astonished to realize that for a moment, he had forgotten to breathe.

"Be my guests for a while. I can see that you are exhausted. We will find a solution for your problem."

Odysseus gave platitudes of thanks, which Paris did not listen to. Thales had servants come and gave Odysseus and Paris rooms. For lack of space the other Ithacans had to share with Mykonos' soldiers. They were offered a bath, which they gladly accepted, and invited to a large dinner in their honor.

* * *

"Our wine is one of the best in all of Greece," King Thales told them that night, "and it is also the most potent wine I have ever tasted; I advise you to mix it well with water."

Odysseus laughed slightly. "I am not worried about myself."

Paris felt no need to show his courage and he did not like wine too much anyway so he followed Thales' instructions, watched intently by their host.

"A wise choice, Paris of Troy," Thales approved. Paris looked up in surprise.

"How do you know who I am?"

Thales smiled. "I suspected. But drink, Prince Paris. Mykonos' wine has ever been much blessed by Dionysus and it shall remain so forevermore. I promise you will like it."

"You pray to Dionysus?" Paris asked eagerly.

"Of course. He is one of our three most important patrons. We have much in common, my prince, you and I. Apollo, too, is one of our much revered deities."

"As the sun god is in Troy. But usually the Trojans do not pray to Dionysus. The priests say he is the source of…" Paris felt heat rushing to his face, "debauchery."

"Here in Mykonos, there is nothing bad about that," Thales' smile was benevolent but his eyes revealed a spark of mischief that made Paris blush harder and turn away.

The evening continued, and while Thales refrained from speaking to Paris directly again, whenever Paris looked in his direction, the king of Mykonos was watching him.

It was inevitable and predictable: most of the Ithacans overindulged. Their host, on the other hand, remained almost unchangingly sober; no surprise there, Paris thought. The man had probably been fed Mykonos' wine since weaned off his mother's milk.

Paris was glad when Thales finally broke the party up. Phytheas had long since passed out and been carried to bed by one of his comrades; the other Ithacans had also stumbled off to bed and the only ones even remotely in their right minds were quite obviously the Trojan and Thales.

Odysseus was the last to leave and he swayed so badly that Paris wrenched his shoulder beneath Odysseus' armpit to steady him. The Ithacan king, however, was not about to co-operate. Instead, he pressed his nose into Paris' hair.

"You smell so good…" he remarked.

Paris grimaced with annoyance and tried to avoid the other man's advances. But for all that he was drunk, Odysseus' hand that suddenly gripped his chin was strong enough to force Paris to meet his eyes and left him unable to shake it off.

"You're so beautiful. I should have taken Troy and you on top of it as my prize." Odysseus leant in as if to smash their lips together but Paris, in a burst of strength, pushed him backwards into a wall; he raised his hand to slap the Ithacan across the face.

"Stop," Thales interfered, quite calm for what the Ithacan king had started sprouting in his house. "He is drunk; he does not know what he is saying." Paris was seething, his jaw tight in anger, and Thales could see it easily.

"Go to sleep; I will take care of him," his host suggested and Paris was more than willing to follow. He threw one last black look at the drunken king of Ithaca then he stormed out of the hall.

* * *

_Before the Odysseus-lovers decide to kill me: I love him, too and everything will be explained in the next chapter._

_Thanks for reading and please leave a review._


	10. Watch your arrows, Eros!

_Great, big thank you to my **beta Litrouke **who took the time to look this over twice and pushed me to do better._

_Eros: god of lust_

* * *

**Chapter 10: Watch your arrows, Eros!**

A quick twist to the side caused the spear meant for him to strike a wooden panel of the wall instead.

"How dare you!" the Goddess of war and helper of heroes cried furiously, her brows drawn together in anger.

Her spear having missed, she drew her sword and lunged forward, but he dodged the swipe; the laughter he had broken into when he arrived at his temple now stuck in his throat. Of course she wouldn't appreciate his joke. But did she have to take it so seriously? He should really have considered this!

Another thrust of her sword and his crown of vine fell off his head. Athena was persistent and with flushed cheeks continued swinging her sword at the God of Wine, forcing him to constantly retreat. Not even a wild scramble over his altar managed to slow her. Her sword hit one of his drinking vessels instead which shattered on impact; he winced slightly in regret before he fled once more, zigzagging around several columns, Athena at his heels. Idly, he wondered how long she could do this. Unfortunately, the answer was quite likely to be forever, while he on the other hand was already huffing and puffing from the exertion.

"Athena, don't!"

Ah good, help had finally arrived.

"Stop that!" Aphrodite called again. She quickly changed her mind about going between them however, once she saw that Athena was unwilling to halt her attacks, even if the Goddess of Love stood in her way. Frantically, she looked around for anything (or anyone) to help, keeping a safe distance of the other goddess.

"Odysseus is MINE! And you are toying with him!" Athena shouted.

"There is no 'we' in this! I don't care about Odysseus! Nothing happened and nothing will happen," the Goddess of Love tried to reason with her sister. Unfortunately it had little effect. Silently, she called Apollo for support. The way this was going she would quickly owe her brother god a handful of favors.

The sun god arrived quickly. With a single glance he assessed the situation; though he held neither bow nor sword or shield, Apollo valiantly pushed Dionysus behind himself and stepped between him and Athena, blocking her next blow with his hand on her wrist.

"Stand aside, Phoebus, your honeyed words will not cool my anger – not this time!" she ordered him harshly but he would not yield.

"Listen well, sister: what is done cannot be unmade, as you so recently argued in front of Father Zeus' throne. I respect your wish to protect Odysseus and I know that Dionysus' interference was thoughtless, but also a mistake. He will not do it again, I swear it to you myself," he appeased.

Athena sneered but did not immediately respond. Apollo used her silence to continue.

"Leave him and go, before Zeus notices and decides to make an appearance."

Athena, as much as she hated to admit it, saw the sense in that. If Zeus had to interfere again, he would be quite put out and probably make all of them leave their human projects behind – something that she did not want to do. She would rather continue to watch out for him herself.

The Goddess of War angrily yanked her spear out of the wall and flashed out of Dionysus' temple. Apollo, seeing his work done, also disappeared.

Dionysus first of all breathed a sigh of relief and then bent to retrieve his vine crown. A look at Aphrodite, however, made him realize that his relief had come a bit early.

"Do you realize how delicate the process of love is?!" she demanded and leant into his space, causing him to tense. When she was livid like this, it did not do to underestimate her: love's revenge was quite bitter.

"You could have ruined everything! Odysseus isn't meant for Paris!"

Dionysus tried a pout to soothe her. "I just wanted to help." He winced as he realized that he sounded like a spoiled child.

Aphrodite rolled her eyes, but retreated a step.

"Well, don't."

"This was supposed to be a communal project," Dionysus reminded her and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You can't just throw me out half-way through. I'm sick of you other gods thinking yourselves above everyone else and doing whatever you like."

Aphrodite made a sound of annoyance. "Listen, love is not your field. You can make people desire each other and cause orgies – but only by using wine. Like today. But real love is something lasting. And if Odysseus had actually forced Paris, we would now have a major disaster at our hands."

Dionysus bit his lip in embarrassment. "I'm sorry?" he finally ventured.

"Of course you are," her eyes briefly went to the ceiling in exasperation.

When Aphrodite saw red, it was usually a quick affair. Just like now. Actually, Dionysus was starting to look quite handsome to her: how he still had his arms crossed, and stood with his weight on one leg making his hip cock out to the side, and the way he bit his lip … comely, really.

Unfortunately she didn't have time for such things right now. Paris was just too important to be left without guidance for long.

"I'm going back now. I promise to call you as soon as there is anything you can do, alright? Just don't do anything like this again."

The God of Wine nodded his head solemnly. By Hades, he really didn't want to be caught between two women again anytime soon! At least not like this.

* * *

The morning after the feast, Thales invited Paris to break his fast with him outside. The storm had left a milder weather in its wake, perfect for being outdoors when one didn't wish to leave a trail of sweat on the floor due to the heat.

Paris had to admit that he had severely underestimated the comforts of the house. The pair lay in the gardens on two couches across from each other with their meals placed on low tables in front of them.

The King of Mykonos made mostly small talk; he asked about their journey and Paris told him about it more readily than he probably should have, considering that they had met only the day before. But he felt comfortable in this man's company. Now that they were outside, under the sun instead of weak torchlight, he was able to make out a scar on his upper lip and he wondered how Thales had gotten it.

Odysseus and the other Ithacans were not awake yet and Paris was glad for it. He was still tempted to slap Odysseus for what had happened the night before.

"You are not like other men," Paris commented.

Thales smiled. "How so?"

"The men I have met so far talk about wars and fighting. They boast about their achievements. You speak about your islands; you are content with them and have no wish for more. Other men would at least attempt conquering more lands. Are you not a man of war?"

His companion shrugged. "I knew war, many years ago. I am an able fighter but it is not to my taste. I chose to live my life in peace. The only reason I would touch my sword now is to protect my people."

"Damian said you have a son. Does he share your opinion? Or have I not seen him because he is out exploring the world?"

"Oh no," Thales laughed slightly, "my son is only fifteen. He is in Delos, as a follower of Artemis. He thinks of her as his mother." Thales gazed absently at his wine cup as he rolled it in his hand. "I lost my wife when he was eight. She succumbed to an illness."

"I am sorry. I did not mean to stir bad memories."

"It is not your fault. For me, it was a long time ago, but Cosmo, my son, of course misses her influence."

Paris fell into an uncomfortable silence.

"I hope I have not lost esteem in your eyes, Prince Paris, when I said that war is not to my taste. After all, you have been surrounded by men of war all of your life. It must have influenced you, too," Thales resumed conversation.

"No, no, by the gods no!" Paris hurried to say. "I did not mean it like that! And while you are right, that war has influenced me, it was never of my own choosing."

"I have to admit I was surprised yesterday that you did not actually strike Odysseus."

Shyly, the Trojan looked down. "I have never actually hurt somebody in earnest. I do not know how to fight."

"Why ever not? Didn't anyone teach you?"

"No. I … I asked Odysseus but he refused. Phytheas tried to train me, but it went wrong and Odysseus forbade it."

"His behavior to you continues to astonish me."

Paris put his cup on the floor and turned away in embarrassment. His cheeks flushed red and he hid his face from his host by shielding it with his arm, pretending to push his hair back.

A light touch to his shoulder surprised him.

"Forgive me," Thales whispered. He had left his couch and was now crouching next to Paris on the floor. "I did not mean to embarrass you. I simply do not understand why he treats you like this. He did not even introduce us, though you are a prince."

Luckily, Paris had managed to regain control quickly. "No, it is I who should apologize. I know well why Odysseus behaves like that. He does not see me as a man, and he is right: I am not a man and I am sorry for leading you on."

"What do you mean?" Thales asked, confused.

"It is not only war that has influenced me. Aphrodite is my protector and she gave me a gift: the gift to bear a child. That is why I was never trained and that is why Odysseus refuses to teach me: because in his eyes I am a woman. He never said this but I am not stupid, and he is not the first to think like this."

Thales retreated in surprise. Paris used the opportunity to stand.

"I am sorry," he said. "Please accept my apologies and excuse me."

The Mykonos King was unable to say anything as Paris quickly left.

* * *

Paris would have liked to spend the rest of the day wallowing in misery in his room. Why was Thales so important? Paris expected to leave again in a day or two as soon as a ship was made ready and then he would never see the man again anyway. So what did it matter what the King thought of him? He was caught between wanting to leave Mykonos because of what he had revealed to Thales … and wanting to stay because of Thales, because he enjoyed his company. He liked his smile, his grey eyes which were forever watching him – not with contempt but with kindness. With love? Paris hit his forehead at the realization.

"Oh Aphrodite, what have you done!" he whispered. "Where are you? And what task would you put before me?"

Thales was everything that Achilles wasn't. Achilles lived for war; Thales lived for his people. Achilles desired him, yes, but that was easy. Thales had asked him questions Achilles would never have asked. He had inquired about him and Achilles hadn't. Thales was kind; Achilles was … different.

And Paris was Achilles' consort. He was not free to be courted as he knew Thales would.

The Trojan had accepted life in Phthia. He thought he might even have become happy. If only he had had more time. If only Achilles had not followed the call of war. If only they had talked more – they had lain together but that had been the rush of the new relationship. For Paris it had been the freedom of sharing his bed at all.

"I need help," Paris whispered. "Help." His legs gave way and he crumpled to the floor. His thoughts raced. What had happened? And why? Why had he met Thales now and not a year ago? Was it a test of his faithfulness? Or a conscious choice? A choice between Achilles and Thales? And what were the consequences of one over the other?

A knock on the door startled him.

"Who is it?" he called both in apprehension and exasperation.

"Odysseus," came the hesitant reply.

Paris angrily slapped the floor. Of course it had to be somebody he didn't want to see. He rubbed his hands over his face and stood.

"Come in." He was proud of the cold and controlled tone he managed.

The door opened slowly and Odysseus entered. He didn't look too good due to the hangover he most certainly suffered. Paris felt a sense of satisfaction when the Ithacan King winced slightly at the bright light in his room.

"I have spoken with King Thales."

"Have you?" His voice didn't reveal anything, but he feared what might have been spoken about between the two men.

"I asked him for a ship to continue our voyage. He is willing to grant it but currently he only has the one he travels with between Delos and Mykonos. He will send somebody to get another ship from Delos. He says it will take probably three days, maybe more. The men need rest, too."

Paris nodded. "Very well. Then so be it." Strangely enough he did not feel a great urgency to meet Achilles. He knew that he should because Peleus' and Patroclus' lives could be in danger and the sooner Achilles knew what had happened, the sooner everyone would be safe.

Odysseus nodded at Paris' answer. He was still looking cautiously at Paris as if expecting him to say something.

"What?" Paris knew that he was being brusque but right now he didn't care.

"Thales mentioned that something happened last night and that I should speak to you. To be honest, I don't remember much so you will have to help me out here."

Paris almost sneered. "You were drunk and out of your mind."

Odysseus blanched slightly with dread. "I didn't … do anything, did I? I didn't touch you?" He asked quite uncertainly.

"You tried. And if Thales hadn't interfered, I would have hit you."

Odysseus winced but his shoulders sagged slightly in a sigh of relief. Achilles would probably behead him if he had actually pawed at his consort.

"You hurt me. I thought I could trust you," Paris insisted, guessing at what the Ithacan was thinking. He wanted to remind him that this wasn't about Achilles. This was about him.

"Paris…"

"No. I don't want to hear it. Or see you for that matter. Leave."

Odysseus, willing to do almost anything, wordlessly nodded and did as told.

Paris decided that he wouldn't get any peace in his rooms anyway, and that it was foolish to be cowed by Odysseus and Thales for reasons that weren't his fault. He hoped to be able to think better outside. He had only just left his rooms when a servant came to him.

"Prince Paris? King Thales is asking for your presence on the training grounds."

"On the training grounds?" Paris asked in astonishment. Whatever was this about?

"Yes, my prince. If you would follow me?"

The servant did not give Paris an opportunity to leave, so the Trojan gave up on any objections and followed.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and please leave a review!_

_Unfortunately I have to admit that unlike the previous chapters, I don't have the next one done yet. So you might have to wait longer for "Manliness"._


	11. Manliness

_Sorry for the long wait. At least this chapter is a little longer than the ones before._

_A great thank you to my **beta Litrouke**, who, somewhere in between laughing and thinking naughty thoughts, corrected this. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine._

* * *

**Chapter 11: Manliness**

"I think you're wrong."

"Excuse me?"

King Thales was standing in the middle of a sandpit used by warriors for training. His bare chest had almost distracted Paris from his statement. At least the King had decided to wear a sarong for this training; Paris didn't think he could have managed to remain if he had been nude.

"You said that you weren't a man," Thales approached him, spinning a wooden training sword in his hand. "The servant I spoke to says otherwise." Thales grinned.

Paris blushed as he realized what the man was talking about: a servant had attended him during his bath the day before and Thales had made inquires with him. The Trojan clenched his jaw; he was annoyed at himself for being almost continually embarrassed by the Mykonian and the fact that this man dared intrude in his privacy like this.

He clenched his jaw. "What is it to you? Why do you take such an interest in me?"

Thales offered him the sword. "Here, take it. I'll show you a few things."

Paris accepted it reluctantly. Thales crossed the sandpit to a rack where other training swords were stored and took one for himself.

"You didn't answer my question!" Paris called.

Thales threw him another grin. "Tell me, what makes a man a man? The fact that he has a cock? You have one. The fact that a man can fight? There are plenty of priests and scholars who can't fight. Does that make them women? When you leave Mykonos, Prince Paris – and take care here, Paris, because your title is 'prince' and not 'princess' – you may get into situations that will require the ability to defend yourself. There is no reason why anyone should traipse all over you. But in fact, you let them: it's you who doesn't defend himself when Odysseus treats you like a woman. Well, that is not completely true: yesterday night you were about to hit him, so you do have some fire after all. And right now you look as if you would also like to tell me a thing or two. So, learn how to defend yourself properly."

At the end of his speech, Thales had returned to Paris with his sword. "Fight!" he demanded.

Paris didn't even think of telling him that he didn't know how. He used the sword the way Phytheas had already tried teaching him and when that didn't suffice, he tried his own ways. Of course, they weren't particularly effective. His stance was too unsteady and his sword not fully under his control, making it seem as if the weapon was ruling Paris instead of the other way around. But Thales wasn't trying to disarm him or prove his inferiority. He simply parried the attacks and retreated, leaving Paris to work off his anger. He didn't even correct Paris or give him advice, because he knew that the prince wasn't ready to hear it. Yet.

Paris put all of his weight and anger behind his blows as he tried to catch the Mykonian from the right, from the left, even from above, but was deflected each time. However, like his patron-goddess Aphrodite, Paris' fury was quick to burn. Coherent thought returned, urging him to strategy.

But the Trojan's hand at the sword was still unused to the movements and his mind did not have the experience or teachings yet needed to break through a seasoned warrior's defense.

His blows weakened and slowed, then came to a sudden halt even Thales had not expected.

"Will you teach me?" Paris asked breathlessly, chest heaving from the strain.

Thales smiled, proud that the Trojan had come to this point on his own without working himself completely into the ground.

"That's what I'm here for," he replied.

"Then Apollo must be watching out for me after all," Paris laughed slightly.

"Let us drink something first." Thales beckoned him to follow to the side of the training grounds where a servant had left a pitcher of water and cups.

After sating their thirst, they returned to the pit.

"First I will show you how to stand. Phytheas has already demonstrated it to you; I will make certain your stance is steady. Then I will teach you some attacks – effective attacks. A warrior will most likely be wearing armor, so you need to know where the weak points are. And finally, I will teach you how to parry. I will teach you that last because against a heavily-muscled and well-trained warrior, your defense might easily break; you will need to use speed instead, maybe slip below your opponent's guard and quickly dispatch him with a well-aimed stab."

Paris simply nodded his head; it sounded like a good plan to him. Taking a deep breath, he signaled to Thales his readiness.

The Mykonian king wasted no time. Efficiently he corrected Paris, lay warm hands on legs, hips, shoulders and whichever other body part that needed straightening or adjustment. His methodical approach was quite different from Phytheas' enthusiastic chaos; Thales never moved too quickly, always making sure his instructions were remembered and never asked too much of Paris. He did, however, push him to both his physical and mental limits.

"We do not have much time, my prince. It will take approximately three days until my men have made ready a ship in Delos and sent it here. You will most likely leave in four days. You will need further training than I can give you in those few days," Thales reminded the Trojan.

They took a break at noon to eat then they continued in a corner of the training grounds where some trees provided shade.

By the time Thales called a halt, Paris was exhausted and wished for nothing more than a bed. But the Mykonian king knew better:

"Come with me to the baths. If you do not take one, it will be most painful for you to move tomorrow. I will also tell one of the servants to massage you with oil."

Unlike the palaces of Troy and Phthia, Thales' house on Mykonos did not provide its high-standing guests and occupants with a private bath. The day before when Paris had asked for the possibility to wash the salt and dirt off, servants had hauled a wooden tub into his room and filled it with warm water. Now Thales brought Paris to the communal baths where the warriors and everyone else cleaned themselves when they felt like it.

There was a large pool for groups to bathe in and two smaller ones for a single man each. Thales took him there and tested the water.

"It is still quite hot as the servants just brought it. The high temperature will be good for your muscles," the king told him.

Paris dipped a toe in and flinched, hissing at the almost scalding heat. Still, he saw the sense of what Thales said. He cast a look at the Mykonian who nodded in understanding.

"I will be over there," he said, waving at the larger pool. The afforded privacy was minimal as the two pools were only divided by a few feet of stone tiles, but Paris thought it better than undressing in front of the other man. He had always envied his brothers' confidence with their bodies; as warriors who trained together with other men, they were never bothered by their nakedness in front of other males.

Paris quickly divested himself of his clothes and sat at the edge of the shallow pool, entering the water slowly, first with his feet, then sitting, until finally he lay on his back in the hot water. Eventually he relaxed, realizing that after he became used to the heat, it actually felt good.

Thales reappeared unexpectedly quickly; being used to training, he did not need to soak but only wash off the sweat and dust.

"Do you mind if I stay?" Thales inquired, sitting on a wooden bench behind Paris' pool. The hot water had mellowed the Trojan, causing him to accept even if it was with a blush.

"Since hearing about you after the end of the war, I have often wondered about you. You told me about Aphrodite's gift this morning but I still do not know your story. Would you tell me about yourself? Not the war, or your husband, or your brother Hector, but yourself?"

Lying with his back to Thales, Paris could not see the king's face. He turned onto his right side, folding his arms on the rim and laid his head on them, so he could face the other man.

The king of Mykonos looked nothing but interested.

"Why do you ask?" Paris questioned.

Thales shrugged. "I am curious." An almost boyish smile lit up his face.

Paris bit his lip so as not to give a responding grin. He turned away and leaned back in the tub instead.

"It is a long story," he tried to dismiss.

"I'm listening."

Paris gave an almost inaudible sigh. "I did not grow up in Troy. I was a foundling, but I didn't know that until much later. My parents, or maybe I should say, the people I thought of as my parents, lived on Mount Ida. My father was a shepherd and he was teaching me his trade."

_I was happy to take care of my father's flock and as I grew older, I took on more responsibility, but the only thing I really had to worry about was sheep wandering off or bad weather._

_I was fifteen, almost sixteen, when my body first stirred. I began to look at girls differently; my first love was an older girl of a neighboring village; she was unattainable of course, a fully-grown woman while I was still a boy. Besides, she was already married. I loved her mostly for her honey cakes._

_There was a different girl I got close to instead, who was nearer my age. Her name was Oenone and she was a nymph. I loved her very much –or at least, I thought it was love– and I would have done anything for her._

_She had this favorite spot at a small pool and I often went there to wait for her. I came early one day and decided to take a swim. That is where I met Aphrodite. I was looking at the sky and didn't even notice her at first._

_"Alexandros." I heard somebody call my name – Alexandros was what my parents at Mount Ida had named me, while King Priam later decided to call me Paris._

_I knew that the voice didn't belong to Oenone, so I looked up towards the shore. There stood the most beautiful woman I had ever seen–not that this meant much–and I gulped. I felt very intimidated; I didn't even know that she was a goddess at the time. All I saw was a mature woman showing more skin than I had seen on any other female. And I saw that she was beautiful. I approached her as if in a trance, not even realizing that I was naked and, while that was fine with other boys, you just don't do that in front of a woman. But I never noticed, so amazed was I._

_"Alexandros," she said to me, "I am Aphrodite." My knees almost gave way beneath me; I stuttered a lot, bowed, probably behaved like any fool would when standing before a goddess. She only smiled._

_"I will give you a gift, Alexandros. To save your life, I will change your destiny. You will not look at women with desire anymore; instead, it will be you who shall bear a child."_

_Needless to say, I was quite shocked. I couldn't even find the words to protest. I was terrified she would turn me into a woman on the spot. Could gods even do that? I didn't know but I feared the answer. I wanted to protest, beg her not to do whatever she was planning, but I couldn't._

_"Do not fear, Paris-Alexandros." Back then, I didn't understand why she called me that. "You are more than worthy of this; just know that men will be yours from now on. Everything else will come in time."_

_She left me, and only then was I able to break out of the trance I had fallen into. I ran after her, calling out for her to stop but I couldn't find her again. She had disappeared._

Paris swallowed as he thought back. He had needed a lot of time to recover from the terror back then. Thoughtfully, he straightened and splashed at the water with his fingers a little.

"What happened then?" Thales should have startled him as he had almost forgotten that he was not retelling the tale to himself but to another person. But the Mykonian's voice was so soothing it seemed to belong in the dreamscape of his past.

_I was in panic and went straight home, not waiting for Oenone as I had originally planned. I offered to look after my father's sheep, which I had left to him as I began to spend more time with friends and Oenone. It gave me an opportunity to be alone, I thought, should I one day wake up with breasts after all._

Paris laughed slightly at himself. Looking back now was proving to be amusing in some ways, painful in others. Aphrodite had said it would save his life, but would he not have been better off a real man? Could he not have helped strike back at the Greeks during the war? Most likely he would never know.

_Obviously I never grew breasts. I noticed an ache in my hips but I thought nothing of it and with nobody around, I couldn't see if what Aphrodite had said, that I would never again desire women, was true._

_I returned home after all, still uncertain, but thinking that I might have been fooled by my own mind. It was only when I met Oenone again that I knew differently. The first thing she said to me was,_

_"Alexandros! Where have you been? You look different somehow."_

_"Different? What do you mean?" I asked fearfully. What disfigurement had I missed during my time in the mountains?_

_At first she was not certain about it herself. "You have grown … but not really in height. More … I don't know … here; you were so slender before" and she mimed the shape of my hips with her hands in the air._

_Horrified, I looked at myself, realizing that she was right. I ran off in distress then and left her standing there. She called out for me but I did not answer. Only later did I also become aware that I had not even once looked at her body or wanted to steal a kiss._

_I looked at myself, but with the exception of my hips, I could not see any differences. I was still male. How was I supposed to give birth? Moreover, how could a man even do what they did with women? I knew nothing about men loving other men._

_Chance led me to find out that a fellow shepherd, older than I, preferred men. I went to him and with much embarrassment managed to ask. He didn't suspect anything as I had taken to wearing concealing cloaks in even the most oppressing heat. He told me whatever I wanted to know, even offered to help me experiment. I declined._

Paris stopped with his tale, observing his wrinkled fingers. The water was cooling.

"I am sorry, Paris, I should have noticed." Thales hastily went to get a towel and, slightly embarrassed at his inattention, handed it to Paris.

The Trojan left the water. He had almost revealed more than appropriate to Thales. The Mykonian did not need to know of the following self-examination Paris had undertaken. His parents had worried endlessly about him during that time, and his mother had been needed more than once to dry his tears, yet he had been unable to confide in anyone.

"We still have some time until dinner. I will tell a servant to come and give you a massage." Thales hesitated. He studied Paris' eyes before deciding to go on. "Would you have dinner with me tonight in private?" he asked.

"What about Odysseus and the others?"

"I am certain my steward can entertain them in my absence."

Paris did not immediately respond. Should he be cautious of both his own attraction and Thales' obscure intentions, and rather refuse the king's invitation? On the other hand he enjoyed the Mykonian's company and would not mind eating with him. Thoughtfully, the Trojan looked around the bath. It was empty. There was nobody there to answer for him, no one to restrict his activities. He could make this decision on his own.

Paris smiled at Thales. "I would like that."

The king returned the smile. "I look forward to it," he said before leaving swiftly, enjoying the warm, pleasurable feeling spreading in his stomach.

The slave Thales sent to rub Paris' sore body was experienced and afterwards the prince was so exhausted he decided to rest for a while. Without meaning to, he slept until the evening hours.

* * *

A servant woke the Trojan to bring him to the king of Mykonos, who was expecting him in the same corner of the gardens where they had eaten breakfast that morning.

The king's servants had prepared roasted leek with apples and lamb. A bowl of nuts had been placed on the table and the (in Paris' eyes) by now notorious Mykonian wine stood right next to a filled water jug. The meal was not as lavish as it had been the night before. It was, however, more than sufficient for two people. Thales had even made the effort to have a few bunches of wild flowers arranged on the table.

The king insisted on serving Paris the wine himself.

"I assume you would like me to continue recounting my life?" the Trojan asked.

"I would like that very much," Thales smiled warmly at him.

"As you wish. Though I cannot fathom why, it is not as if I am a great hero."

"There are many more things that make a person a hero than being a warrior."

Paris shrugged the comment off in a way that told Thales that he didn't believe it. And why would he? The Trojan had grown up as a shepherd hearing the most wondrous things about the great city Troy and the heroic deeds by their crown prince Hector. Later he had grown up as Hector's youngest brother and been taught that he would never measure up to him. Now he was the consort of the man who called himself the greatest warrior in the known world.

_Having found out the truth of Aphrodite's words, I was devastated. I was ashamed of the fact that I was almost a woman now and retreated from all others, even my family. I avoided Oenone at all costs, spending my time with my father's flock instead. In the fall, new developments came about._

_For the harvest festival everyone of the area met at the temple of Demeter to celebrate. Wine flowed like water and I indulged more than I ever had before. I fell asleep and dreamt._

The Trojan paused to take a drink and collect his thoughts.

"What did you dream about?" Thales had leant forward curiously; he was sitting on the couch with his chin palmed in one hand, elbow balanced on his knee and his attention fixed firmly on Paris.

Paris studied the floor and bit his lower lip in hesitation. "I dreamt … about what the shepherd had told me. What men do … in the bedchamber; or usually in the bedchamber."

Feeling the blush in his cheeks, he hurried onwards.

_When I woke the next morning, I was even more disturbed than before. I swore to never touch wine again but this, of course, was unavoidable. Eventually I figured out that the dreams only came when I had drunk wine and that the intensity of the dreams varied according to the amount I had consumed._

_Finally, Oenone cornered me. She had had enough of me avoiding her. And I had meanwhile become so worn down that I confided in her. Being a nymph, she had more knowledge about gods and such things than I, even if she herself had never seen one. She advised me to seek a priest to ask advice. The biggest temple in the area was devoted to Apollo, and we decided to go there. Had I been alone the acolyte would probably never have believed me, but Oenone's presence and explanations convinced him. Still, he felt out of his depths and sent us to Troy._

_I told my parents that I wished to make a sacrifice in the city and asked their leave. Oenone didn't want to go to Troy so I traveled alone. The first temple I visited was Aphrodite's, but the priests there called me a liar, so I went to Zeus' temple instead._

Paris felt a headache coming and rubbed his forehead.

"Are you alright? Do you wish to stop?"

Paris shook his head. He wanted to finish his story, even if it was hard. He took another swallow of wine.

_I will not tell you the details of everything. Queen Hecuba had decided to pay a visit to the temple together with her daughter Cassandra. They recognized me. Even after all those years, she knew who I was, because she was my mother by birth. Due to a prophetic dream, she and the king had decided to leave me to die. The servant they instructed to throw me to my death, however, could not do it. He did not return to the palace and instead moved with his wife to Mount Ida, raising me to be his son._

_But now that Hecuba had seen me, she did not wish me to leave again. I was brought into the family instead. As prince, my word had more value now and when I insisted that I had seen Aphrodite, all priests quickly confirmed it. Strange, isn't it? They wouldn't believe the son of a shepherd but tell them that you are a prince and they will say yes to whatever you want._

_I saw my foster-father only once more. He attempted to reassure me, and especially Hector tried to make me feel welcome. But I was never happy in Troy._

Paris leant back on his couch, staring at the darkening sky.

"I used Achilles as a means to escape."

"You shouldn't feel bad about that. Anyone would have done the same." Thales appeared at his side. Hesitantly he reached for the Trojan's hand and squeezed it softly.

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell you about your past."

"What can I say? You make it so easy." Admiration evident in his voice, Paris sat up and met Thales' gaze.

Unmoving, they sat in silence until the oil lamp on the table was the only source of light, their hands resting together and their faces turned towards each other.

* * *

I freely admit that not everything in this chapter turned out as I wanted it, and I'm actually starting to hate Paris just a little bit.

Still I hope you enjoyed it and I'll try to post the next chapter sooner. This story has been going on for almost a year now and I promise that I will finish it.

Thanks for reading and please leave a review.

**_Next: "The Long Goodbye"_**

_Teaser:_

_"You know, maybe you should think about settling down. After all, with such a lovely consort in your house what else could you want?"_

_"Paris, he has fallen in love with you."_

_"Can you not imagine walking here,(...)"_ - _"Yes I can imagine it."_

(If you want to check the status of chapter 12, look into my profile sometime)


	12. The Long Goodbye

_Oh my God can you believe it?? Two chapters within a week! I proudly present you chapter 12 and would like to give a huge thank you complete with fireworks to my **beta Litrouke** who really worked at her best and quickest._

* * *

**Chapter 12: The Long Goodbye**

He sat in front of his hut, watching as others took down their tents, carried loot and baggage to their ships, and led horses onto the decks. His own men were lying around him in front of their own tents, occasionally throwing questioning or insecure glances towards him.

Achilles felt strangely detached. For days now he had been unable to raise any passion for what he did. His nights were spent restlessly twisting and turning in his bedding. Once, he had sought comfort with a slave, but her presence had only annoyed him, reminding him acutely of whom he was waiting for.

The war had ended two days previously. Agamemnon and his army had won, the enemy either been slaughtered or scattered across the lands, their wives and children enslaved and being prepared to leave for various regions and islands in Greece. Achilles had also been granted a good amount of spoils.

Ajax had not spoken to him since their argument, but the Myrmidon was certain that he would visit at least once more to leave some scathing comment or another.

The man approaching him now was not Ajax but Diomedes, King of Argos. Achilles had not often dealt with Diomedes, even though they both called Odysseus their friend. Most likely it was because Diomedes considered him to be little better than a mercenary.

"You are not leaving yet?" Diomedes asked.

"No," Achilles simply answered. Then, with a gesture inviting Diomedes to sit, he politely inquired, "Would you like some wine?"

With a sigh, Diomedes lowered himself and sat cross-legged on a mat. "I would appreciate it," he accepted.

Now Achilles wished he had brought Patroclus after all; usually he had left his cousin to take care of such domestic tasks. Paris, he mused, could certainly have done this as well. As it was, however, he had to go inside the tent himself to gather two goblets and a skin of wine. He took it outside and poured himself and Diomedes a cup. The king of Argos accepted it.

"If you are not leaving, how long are you staying?"

"However long it takes."

Diomedes shrugged at the non-answer. "There are still some rebels in the area. But lately you did not seem to be keen on fighting."

Achilles glowered at him. Diomedes ignored it.

"You know, maybe you should think about settling down. After all, with such a lovely consort in your house, what else could you want?"

"Funny. Ajax said I was a fool for taking him instead of glory."

Thoughtfully, Diomedes studied the cloudless sky. "Ah, Ajax," he drawled, his Argos accent becoming more pronounced. He chuckled disparagingly. "He knows nothing about such things. You were no more a fool than any other man would be had he been offered Paris."

Achilles nodded thoughtfully.

"You might just be right about that. You do have more sense after all than I thought."

Achilles threw a cheeky smile at the other man, making him look years younger than the hardened warrior he actually was.

Diomedes almost snorted his wine out through his nose. His chest heaved as he coughed violently to free his airways. Ever helpful, Achilles thumped him on the back, though perhaps a bit more forcefully than strictly necessary.

"Glad you have finally seen the light," Diomedes choked out at last. Pushing Achilles' fist away to prevent any further 'help' in catching his breath, Diomedes repeatedly cleared his throat while Achilles grinned smugly into his wine cup.

"I wonder whatever happened to Odysseus that he still hasn't arrived," Diomedes commented thoughtfully; "He promised that even if he wouldn't take part in the war, he would at least visit."

Achilles could see that he was biting his lower lip slightly, a good indication that while Diomedes had spoken casually, he was worried about his friend. Diomedes and Odysseus actually resembled each other in character quite a lot. Their sharp wit and similar lines of thought had made them great allies as well as close friends.

Achilles took a sip of his wine. All Aphrodite had shown him was that Odysseus had been shipwrecked with Paris. So far, Achilles hadn't been able to come up with a reason why the two had ended up together.

"I'm sure he will be alright, clever fox that he is…" The Myrmidon took another quick gulp of wine; his attempts at comfort had never been particularly good.

Diomedes only voiced a half-hearted "mmhh" that could have been agreement or simply a sign of his distraction.

"Achilles," Diomedes finally sighed, put down his drained cup, and stood, "thank you for your hospitality. I am leaving today and I don't think we will see each other again before then."

Achilles stood as well. They clasped arms in a warrior's grip. "Gods be with you and may they bless your journey home," the Myrmidon said.

"And yours, which I hope will be soon. Don't make your Paris wait too long," Diomedes winked. Achilles forced a low laugh, not bothering to tell Diomedes that Paris wasn't waiting for him, but that he was waiting for Paris.

"Until next time!" Diomedes called in parting before he left to go to his ships.

Carrying the wine inside but leaving the cups for a slave to clean, Achilles decided that he had enough of the outside after all. While others might notice his disappearance, Achilles didn't particularly care for those people's opinion. He laid down for a nap instead, recalling soothing memories to lull himself to sleep; this time he wasn't even surprised that almost all of those memories involved Paris.

* * *

Odysseus was no fool. In the whole Aegean there wasn't any man who would in all seriousness claim that Odysseus was a fool. The emphasis, however, should be on 'man'. If one asked Penelope, she might divulge that the first time the Ithacan king met her, his famous wits had left him completely, leaving him a stammering and blabbering – who would have guessed – fool.

But even without the years of experience he had gained in various wars and his reign as king, anyone with even an average level of intelligence would have realized that something was going on between Paris, Prince of Troy and consort of Achilles, and Thales, King of Mykonos.

Odysseus might not have seen the looks exchanged on their first meeting. But he had ears, and Thales drawing Paris into conversation that first night in Mykonos had not only been casual hospitality. Odysseus was a man, too, and had seen his intent but dismissed the exchange; after all, they would leave soon enough and Odysseus would like to see the man capable of stealing Paris away on his watch. He hadn't known about their breakfast until today (and getting a servant to talk had been hard enough already). Most obvious, of course, had been the missed dinner yesterday. As if Thales' absence hadn't been unusual enough, Paris should have been there or at least in his rooms (which Odysseus had checked himself and found empty).

Watching them now, training together in the pits with Thales explaining patiently each and every move, an uneasy feeling settled in Odysseus stomach. He wanted to curse or maybe plead with Paris. Was the Trojan really oblivious to Thales' attraction? Or did he know about it, enjoying maybe the attention the Mykonian king was paying him?

Thales' hand settled on one of Paris' shoulders and smiled at the prince. If he was giving praise or trying to get the Trojan's attention, Odysseus couldn't tell.

He approached slowly, giving no indication that he had been watching them for a while. Thales was the first to see him and the Mykonian promptly stepped back from Paris. For a split second, his expression was pained, before he forced all emotion back. Odysseus pitied the man. He had come under Paris' spell and obviously felt affection for the Trojan, but there was nothing he could do.

Thales said something in a low voice that Odysseus couldn't overhear. When Paris turned suddenly, it was clear that Thales had told him about the Ithacan's arrival.

Odysseus tried to read Paris' expression; he needed to know if Paris returned Thales' affections. But his eyes were blank.

"King Odysseus," Thales greeted respectfully.

"King Thales," Odysseus answered before turning to Paris. The Trojan gazed back at him but neither man spoke.

"Why don't we take a break?" Thales suggested. "This way you can talk and I'll go arrange for something to drink in the meantime." He didn't wait for a response but left the pit immediately.

The silence was beginning to become awkward.

"King Thales offered to teach me how to use a sword," Paris began.

"So I see," Odysseus sighed. "Paris, do you even realize what you are doing?"

Paris looked down. Nervously, he bit his lip. He knew. He knew, but he was innocent, Odysseus realized. And without being aware of it, Odysseus took his chin in his rough hand and lifted it until Paris met his eyes. There was sorrow there and Odysseus pitied him even more than he had the King of Mykonos.

"Paris," Odysseus told him softly, "he has fallen in love with you. And I realize that Thales is a gentle man, much more gentle than Achilles has ever been, and that Thales would carry you on his hands wherever you wished while it seems to you that Achilles will never do more but command you. But you must not give in! You are Achilles' consort and nothing and nobody can change that to the death. Do you hear, to the death! Your own brother Deiphobus stole another man's wife and you saw what it brought about – the war it brought to your homeland, one that you had to pay for yourself! Menelaus and Agamemnon had to retreat because they couldn't take Troy, but look at this little island! Do you really think Achilles could not – would not – burn Mykonos and Delos to the ground? Because he would, Paris, he would. The only thing I do not know … is what he would do with you…" Odysseus trailed off.

Inwardly, Paris shuddered. Though he had tried to repress it, the scenario was looming like a threat in his mind. Hearing Odysseus put it to him so bluntly, like a warning, he became afraid. What happened next was startling in its contrast: Odysseus pressed a soothing kiss to his left temple. Then he spoke and this time, his lips were so close to Paris' ear he could feel the Ithacan's warm breath.

"Achilles calls himself a lion. And he is. He lays destruction to many, but he protects what is his. Make no mistake: you are his. He will never harm you as long as you remain with him. He is wild. But sometimes wild animals can be tamed. The question is – can you tame him? Do you dare to?"

His hand still cupped Paris' chin and he used this now to turn him slightly so they could look at each other. The Trojan's breathing was hitched, his eyes wide with something close to panic.

"Tell you what, we will teach you how to fight: to tame a lion you must be strong. Once the ship arrives, we leave this island and sail for Messenia to collect your wayward husband. And if you like, I'll even beat some sense into him personally."

A choked laugh escaped Paris as he tried to picture Odysseus decking Achilles.

"Promise?" he asked.

"Promise," Odysseus nodded reverently but ruined the moment by laughing out loud.

The Ithacan stepped back. "Where do they keep the training swords?" he inquired.

Paris indicated the direction. By the time Thales returned, the King of Ithaca was already deeply involved in giving an enthusiastic Paris a new lesson in sword fighting.

* * *

In the end, they spent four days on Mykonos. On the morning of the fourth, a ship arrived from Delos. When Odysseus inspected it, he could find no reason to complain: it was no older than two years, the wood intact and the sails in good condition. He felt certain that this ship would carry them safely to Sparta.

They could have sailed directly to Messenia, but would have had to sail all around the coast of Laconia. As speed was of essence, Odysseus had decided on taking the river to Sparta and get horses from Menelaus; they would cross much faster over land. They had already lost enough time.

Odysseus wanted to leave the very next day. Thales promised him provisions and the King of Ithaca oversaw the loading of the ship himself.

He had argued with himself whether it wasn't better to act as a chaperone for Paris. In the end, however, he had opted to leave Paris alone for this goodbye.

Thales and Paris had agreed on one final round of intense training together. Once Paris boarded the ship, Odysseus would be the only one to give him lessons.

The King of Mykonos didn't seem to be completely focused. His eyes often rested on the Trojan. Paris remembered Odysseus' words and knew that their parting would be difficult. And his decision alone. Not even Odysseus could have forced him to leave.

They finally ended their session, drenched with sweat and panting. Paris knew he would immediately go to the bathhouse.

Thales held him back; he gently took his hand and held it. His grey eyes met Paris'.

"Odysseus and his men are leaving tomorrow," the king began.

"I have to go with him," Paris told him in a low voice. He could not hide the sadness he felt. He liked Thales, for his nobleness, his love for his country and his gentle manner.

The other man's mouth tightened with displeasure, but he would not give up so easily. He turned Paris away from him and stood close behind him with one hand on his shoulder.

"Do you see this?" he asked, meaning Mykonos, which lay in front of them in its green and golden hues surrounded by the deep blue sea. There were great rocks strewn all over the island, lush grass for herds and beaches to rival Troy's. "I cannot imagine the Elysian Fields looking any better than this!" Thales continued.

The King of Mykonos held a love for his home unlike anyone else Paris had ever met. Achilles took pleasure in any beach no matter where it was as long as the sand was fine and the ocean cool. Hector had loved Troy, but he had held no such passion for the giant city of Troy and its surrounding lands as Thales held for little Mykonos and its even smaller twin Delos. Paris furiously blinked tears out of his eyes.

"Can you not imagine walking here, feeling the blades of grass whispering along your skin, the sand trailing through your fingers, or the sturdy rocks as you rest on them?" Tenderly, the Mykonian turned Paris back around to face him. "Can you not imagine seeing me every night at dinner … and every morning?"

A tear rolled down Paris' cheek but he ignored it. "Yes, I can imagine it," Paris whispered. "But I can also imagine this grass trampled down by legions of warriors and the trenches dug into the sand to protect an invader's camp. And if I try, I can even imagine you, lying slain on the marble floor of your house and your blood on my hands." He could even picture the scene further, with Achilles standing in front of him, precious life dripping red off his short sword.

"Thales, I have seen war. Had we met before, I would have said yes, ten times I would have said yes to a life with you. But I am not free anymore; I am Achilles' consort. I made promises to him and he made promises to me. There were words spoken between us which I fear we did not remember when we should have. But this does not annul our marriage which was not just to unify two people but also two countries. I am sorry, Thales, but I have to stand by him and if I have to fight for his affection, then I will."

Thales' hands tightened almost painfully on Paris' shoulder and he pulled Paris into an embrace. The Trojan forced himself not to return it. Finally, the Mykonian backed off, his eyes blurred with tears.

"I gave hope to you," he leant down; with a painful amount of self-control, he kissed Paris chastely on the very corner of his mouth. Shakily, Thales forced breath into his air-starved lungs. "Go now; tomorrow you will leave at first light and I will not see you again, for it will be too painful for me to bear. But another time, we will meet again; I will come to Phthia, though I cannot say when. I will come to see how you are, and if Achilles has not made your eyes shine with joy and his arms are not around you lovingly, then I will challenge him for your hand."

Thales turned away and hurried towards the main house without once looking back. Tears trailed down Paris' cheeks. Feeling drained, he sank down to the floor and buried his face in his hands. Hiccups shook his body as he cried silently. He tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths and rocking himself and managed to reduce his tears to occasional sniffing. Still he remained sitting sadly on thin grass, mentally saying goodbye to the chance of a great love.

He did not know how long he sat there until footsteps neared him hesitantly and an arm was wrapped around him in comfort. At first, Paris thought it might be Odysseus, but looking to the side he saw that it was Phytheas.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"It's alright. But why were you crying? I thought you would be glad to finally leave this island and find Achilles?" Phytheas asked, confused.

Paris had to laugh. It seemed that none of the other Ithacans, or at least not this young Ithacan, had any inkling of what had transpired between their host Thales and the Trojan prince.

"I need a bath," Paris noted, wrinkling his nose not only at his own smell, but at his no doubt red and snotty face. Without answering Phytheas' inquiry, he slowly made his way to the bathhouse.

* * *

Wow! Let me just say another 'thank you', this time to my readers and reviewers. This chapter isn't as long as the last one but the good news is: we are steadily approaching a much-awaited reunion: yes, Achilles will return in Chapter 13 which, unfortunately, does not have a name yet. The bad news should be obvious already: wonderful, kind and loving Thales, King of Mykonos, will leave us here. The fact that a few of you started rooting for him, tells me that he was a good addition._  
_

_Now on to the **teaser **of the so far nameless **Chapter 13**:_

_"The war in Messenia has been over for weeks now. The rebels have been subdued and the armies have returned home."_

_"I never expected to see **you **visit my humble abode."_

_"Down! Take cover!" Odysseus shouted, drawing his sword._


	13. So near and yet so far

_Thanks goes to my beta Litrouke and Judy for helping me find a better title._

* * *

**Chapter 13: So near and yet so far**

As Thales had predicted, Paris, Odysseus, and the other Ithacans left Mykonos at first light. Paris assumed that the king of Mykonos had said farewell to Odysseus but he himself did not see him that morning.

Once they had boarded the ship and set sail, Paris often looked back at Mykonos. At one point he could have sworn that he saw a man at the docks and thought that it might be Thales after all.

Odysseus would not let him dwell on it. He took up two training swords he had taken from Mykonos and challenged Paris. The training did not leave Paris time to think.

Odysseus encouraged his men to their best efforts, enabling them to reach Sparta within three days. Thankfully, their voyage remained uneventful. Having never been to Sparta, Paris was curious to see it, but not very keen on meeting Menelaus. On their arrival, he soon found out that he needn't have worried: the Spartan king was away visiting his brother Agamemnon in Mycenae.

However, a different kind of news quickly put them on edge again. The steward in charge of the city during the king's absence unsuspectingly questioned Odysseus:

"King Odysseus, may I ask why you only arrive now in Sparta, and with Lord Achilles' consort as well? The war in Messenia has been over for days now."

"Over?" Paris immediately chimed in, completely shocked.

"Yes, Prince Paris. The rebels have been subdued and the armies have returned home," the steward named Pausanias answered, still quite confused both by their appearance and their obvious anxiety.

"**All **of the armies?" Odysseus questioned.

"Well, Lord Odysseus, King Diomedes was here a couple of days ago. He was quite worried about your wellbeing, in fact, and considered travelling to Ithaca next. He mentioned that Lord Achilles had wanted to remain, though he didn't say for how long."

Odysseus breathed a sigh of relief. "That means he could still be there," he told Paris.

The Trojan was not completely reassured. Unfortunately, he simply couldn't say how Achilles would act, and as he had never been to war either, he did not know why Achilles had wanted to stay in Messenia.

Pausanias wanted them to remain until Menelaus' return but Odysseus quickly explained their urgency and requested horses instead. Pausanias readily granted them and also offered at least a feast and a good night's rest in the palace, which Odysseus accepted gratefully. The ride to Messenia's coast, where Achilles would have his camp, would only take three days. Needless to say, they would hurry onwards as quickly as possible now as not to miss the Myrmidons. Their necessity for speed was one reason why Odysseus worried about Paris.

"Would it not be better if you stayed here in Sparta, where you will be safe, while I go look for Achilles? Our trip on horseback will be a lot harder than it was on ship. We don't want to waste any more time and will only rest for our horses," Odysseus suggested to him.

Paris only gave him a black look.

"Do you forget who my brother is? They call him Hector Horse-tamer and while I may not have gone through a soldier's training, if there is one thing I know, then it is riding. I have ridden with him for days over the countryside, never pausing for anything and always racing one another. You said it will take us three days to reach the coast where the invasion was started. I can handle that. I will not be left behind, especially not in this city."

Paris threw a disgusted look at his surroundings and Odysseus realized that it was useless to protest. He had noticed that the Trojan prince had become harsher after leaving Mykonos. He had occasionally caught glimpses of a more mature Paris before, but in Mykonos he had clearly lost something. His eyes were harder, his forehead sterner and he spoke less. He would not accept belittling now and if the Trojan hid more of such emotions, then Odysseus was certain that sparks would fly once he was reunited with Achilles.

Knowing what kind of exertion would be expected of them the next day, the Ithacans laid down to rest. Tonight's feast would not be filled with drinking as their first night in Mykonos had been (besides, Spartan wine was held in low regards and none would drink more than to sate their thirst).

Paris asked Pausanias about Sparta's temples. The steward regretfully told him that they had only the temple of Ares inside the palace walls, but there were others in the city. He arranged for a guide and while the man was summoned, Paris visited the temple of Ares.

The priests left him alone, as Pausanias had led him there and told the priests that the young man was the consort of Achilles and deserved privacy. Paris was thankful for this.

He had never been in a temple to Ares, having never before even remotely touched on the arts of war. Curiously he looked at the statues depicting the god and Paris wondered if they did him justice. He had always thought that the statue of Apollo on Troy's beach was hideous and if the sun god looked anything like it, then the stories of his male and female conquests were quite exaggerated.

When he saw burnt animal entrails and incense smoldering in a black metal bowl on the altar, he realized that he had brought nothing.

"I never expected to see **you** visit my humble abode," a voice behind him called out.

Spinning around, Paris' hand reflexively reached for Achilles' sword on his hip. But the man confidently walking out of the shadows of the back of the temple simply raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement.

"Your…?" Paris questioned involuntarily before he was beginning to catch on and his gaze was drawn back to the statues.

"No, they don't do me justice at all," the man commented as if answering Paris' earlier thought. "My favorite temple isn't in Sparta anyway. On the other hand, Mykonos had none at all, so this is some improvement." Ares smiled at Paris who was beginning to get a queasy feeling in his stomach. Unconsciously, his hand tightened around his sword.

Ares, of course, noticed the prince's apprehension.

"Why don't we see what you are made of?" The god didn't wait for an answer, drawing his sword.

Panic was beginning to take over Paris and he drew the sword quickly, his fist so tight around the hilt that the sword's tip trembled.

"Don't worry about it," Ares soothed, though the smile he threw Paris had something predatory to it. "I just want to see what Odysseus taught you."

Paris hesitated, tense and waiting for the god to do something.

"Go on. Attack me!" Ares ordered.

Paris' eyebrows drew together in concentration and determination. He attacked.

Ares blocked him effortlessly, followed by a thrust of his own sword which Paris managed to side-step. Ares fought faster than Odysseus or Thales had ever done in training with Paris. The Trojan was also painfully conscious of the fact that the swords they used now weren't wooden but real metal. Was Ares' sword keen? Paris could only assume that it was. The god of war's fighting style was faultless, quick and made to end lives. In time, Paris realized that the god was not fighting to his full capacity. He was testing Paris' reflexes and strength, speeding up continuously until finally Paris stumbled as he stepped backwards. He was thrown on his back, breath leaving him, sword clattering on the floor while Ares' blade cut through the air, aimed for his throat. It halted a hair's breadth before touching skin. The Trojan gasped.

Ares sighed in resignation. "Under the right circumstances, you might stop some humans." He withdrew his sword and turned his back on Paris. "If you are really serious about learning how to fight, tell Achilles to give you some training."

Without any further words of goodbye, Ares went for the back of the temple and disappeared somewhere in the shadows.

Breathing heavily, Paris continued staring at the spot where the god had disappeared, hoping that Ares had really gone and wasn't coming back. The encounter had shaken him to the core.

A knock on the door startled him. "Prince Paris? Are you alright? The priests reported hearing noises. The guide has arrived as well," Pausanias called out behind the door.

"I'm fine," Paris answered loudly but still quite shakily, quickly sheathing his sword in case Pausanias decided to come in. He scrambled off the floor. Opening the door, he avoided Pausanias' gaze. The exertion of fighting, in addition to the humidity, was plain to see in the sweat glistening on his forehead. Paris wiped a hand over it but the gesture did nothing for the strange looks Pausanias was giving him.

"Where is my guide?" Paris demanded, steeling himself. Pausanias recognized the tone as 'impatient noble' and decided to act instead of trying to figure out his strange behavior.

"Right this way, Prince Paris."

* * *

It seemed that word had got around quickly that the fertile, male consort of Achilles had arrived in Sparta. Pausanias had him accompanied by two guards and at first Paris had thought them superfluous. But once he had left the palace, people flocked around him. They appealed to him for his attention, they wanted to look at him, touch him, but Paris had no mind for it. Under the protection of his guide and his guards, he was brought to Aphrodite's temple. He could not even contemplate whether he wanted to enter this temple after meeting a god in another. Ares had known where he had come from, had even implied his presence on the island. Who was to say what other gods knew, or what they were interested in?

The guards barred the doors to any other visitors to the temple while the guide followed him inside. He told the priests of the great honor done to them with Paris' visit, and after a respectful and polite, but short, exchange, the priests granted him privacy. A young acolyte gave him a bunch of flowers before she too left.

Standing in the middle, he turned around his own axis to look into every dark corner of the temple. He could see nothing, but still not being entirely reassured, he walked through the whole room. He returned to the altar in the middle and smelled the air. It did not smell like the herbs and flowers that were burnt in her honor; now Paris was certain that she was here. The sweet scent put him at ease after Ares' appearance.

"Aphrodite," he called, not especially loudly, and had anybody been listening he might have thought it the beginning of a prayer or simply the name of the goddess said to himself.

"You are not well," she said and Paris turned to look at her. She was just as he remembered her, yet not at all. She was more beautiful than in his memory. Paris did not know if she could control her aura because, as the Goddess of Love, one might have expected to instantly fall in love with her and be bewitched by her beauty as Paris had been all those years ago. But now, as she came closer to him, he felt none of those emotions he had associated with her; he felt warm instead, loved, yes, but it was a platonic love, the love of a mother or a sister.

She opened her arms and Paris entered them gratefully, rested his head on her shoulder and breathed, calming down with each puff of air, soothed by her presence and her arms around him.

An eternity passed by unnoticed before he pulled back. She regarded him with a sad smile.

"The choice I gave you was hard to make," she commented.

"Did I make the right one?"

"There is no right choice in life. There is one way and there is another. All paths lead to the same end."

She held his hands in both of hers, and pulled him down with her until they were sitting on the steps of the altar.

"You and Achilles have a lot to talk about. You may have to fight for his attention sometimes. But you will manage, and manage well."

"What about the apple? Thetis said to eat it before I see him."

She rolled her eyes. "Forget about the apple. Under other circumstances that might have worked. Take it with you and eat it when you're ready."

"But what is it for?"

She chuckled playfully. "It makes things easier; more exciting, too." Her grin stopped any further inquiries Paris might have had.

"What about Thales?" The Trojan swallowed hard as he thought of the man he had left behind in Mykonos and he gazed at her sadly with dark eyes.

Her grin disappeared and she gave a little shrug. "He has lived a long life already; he is much older than you and he had a wife for many years. If there will be another in his life, we have yet to see."

"He is a good man. But the consequences were just too dire."

"Possibly." She studied him intently. "You have grown so much," she commented. "I have seen you over the years, of course, but never so close."

Paris blushed and ducked his head. Aphrodite only chuckled and kissed his cheek.

She stood. "I have to go now and you will leave for Messenia tomorrow."

Paris rose in excitement. "Is Achilles still there?"

"Of course he is." Aphrodite snorted. "He had better be! I had a little talk with him a few weeks ago! Oh and before I forget, if Ares ever gives you trouble again, you go tell me right away, alright? I may not wield a sword, but there are other ways a woman can punish a man." She winked at him. Then she noticed the flowers in his hand and took them; Paris blushed in embarrassment, as he had completely forgotten about them.

"Thank you! I like them much better like this than burnt," she threw a disgusted look at the smoldering embers on her altar. Unlike Ares, she didn't bother fading into the shadows. Right in front of Paris' eyes, she was present one moment and gone the next. In her stead, rose petals fell slowly to the ground, leaving them scattered.

Reverently, Paris picked each and every one of them up. Walking outside, he did not refuse the people this time. He talked to everyone he could and did not mind their hands as they touched him in the hope of becoming more fertile. The people thought him to be equal to a son of Aphrodite, and Paris was surprised to note that even a few, though very few, male youths came to him. To whomever he could reach, Paris gave a single rose petal until all of them were gone.

He reached the palace only a short time before dinner and his appearance, as well as the gifted rose petals, would be the talk of the city for many weeks. Those who had received them swore to every god in existence that they had felt euphoric for days after.

* * *

As the sun rose the next morning, painting the sky in the most beautiful colors of orange, yellow and purple, Odysseus, Paris and the Ithacans were already leaving the city on horseback. They pushed the horses as fast as they could because, despite Aphrodite's assurances that Achilles would be waiting, Paris wanted to leave this last part of his extensive trip behind him as quickly as possible.

Knowing that he would soon meet Achilles, the news he was forced to deliver also increasingly weighed on his mind. How was he to tell Achilles that his beloved cousin had been badly injured and that Paris didn't even know if he was still alive? Paris knew that Achilles had raised Patroclus himself and hearing about the attack would most certainly enrage him, possibly more than the fact that his father's throne was being threatened.

And finally, Paris wanted to have a serious talk with Achilles as well. He had given up the prospects of a great love to do the right thing. He didn't want to be remembered as sacrificing his own happiness all of his life.

First, however, they would have to find the Myrmidons.

On their first day they passed through some villages and most of them seemed untouched by the recent war. They were offered the appropriate hospitality but their haste forced them to decline. The second day saw them in only one village, which was half-deserted of men; those who had remained greeted them with dark looks. They moved on immediately.

Evening nearing, Odysseus sent one of his men out to look for an appropriate place to make camp. They entered a small forest in which Odysseus hoped to find a stream or a spring to spend the night.

Indeed there was a creek. Relieved, they slid off their horses and led their faithful animals to the water for a drink.

One Ithacan, Adrastos, seemed to have spied something because he crossed the river to have a look. He reached below one of the bushes growing on the bank; pulling at the object, he suddenly cried out in alarm.

Odysseus and the others started.

"Cleisthenes, it's Cleisthe-", Adrastos got not further. An arrow whistled through the air and pierced his throat. His shouts fell silent after one last gurgle and his body dropped into the water, joining that of Cleisthenes who had been tasked to explore the area.

"Down! Take cover!" Odysseus shouted, drawing his sword. Another arrow probably meant for him downed a horse. Meaning to go protect Paris, he ran towards the Trojan, but further projectiles had him abandon the idea.

Paris had caught on quickly anyhow. He dropped flat on the ground, drawing his husband's sword. Someone else also held him down, whom Paris recognized as Phytheas who was lying low right next to him. Their swords were useless against arrows but whoever their enemy was, they were out of them. Bellowing war cries, they stormed across the creek, axes, spears and swords in their hands.

Odysseus cut down one of the first; a man next to him fell to an enemy's spear but another Ithacan took his place. Paris and Phytheas were forced to hold their own, too far away was Odysseus to be of any help. He could only pray to Athena that Paris would not fall.

The Trojan had no time to think: courageous Phytheas tried to keep the attackers away from Paris, but with one engaging him in a fight, another gained access to Paris. Realizing that this was a fight to the death now, Paris sent a quick prayer to Apollo and a thought to Ares. Determined to prove that he could fight, but also to defend his life, Paris thrust at the foreign man in front of him. His attacker blocked it with a crude axe before attacking. The Trojan sidestepped, took a step forward to reach the man's side, and stabbed his sword between the attacker's unprotected ribs. With a sigh, he dropped.

That was his first kill. The first man who fell to his sword, and now Achilles' previously shiny, beautiful blade was stained with blood.

Phytheas cried out in fear. The man he had fought with had broken through his guard and the young Ithacan had stumbled, making him vulnerable. Paris, seeing this, shouted with fury and leapt to help the youth he had started considering his friend, and, for lack of a better target, cut into the enemy's arm. The man dropped his weapon in pain and Phytheas finished him off by thrusting his blade into the man's gut.

Paris smiled at Phytheas, glad the other youth was still alive. The smile abruptly froze as hot, burning metal entered his side; this, at least, was what it felt like to Paris. Dropping his sword in shock, he reached for his right side. He thought he could feel the tip of a sword retreating, then blood rushed out of the wound, running in warm rivers over his fingers.

Phytheas could only stare in horror as the man behind Paris raised his blade to stab again, even while Paris slid to the ground, his brown eyes wide with pain and shock.

"Paris!" Odysseus shouted. He had finally managed to approach the two young men but, so it seemed, too late. Rage and desperation gripped him, and with a furious swipe of his sword, he beheaded Paris' assailant.

Paris groaned as he crumbled, the sounds of battle fading away until he could hear them only at a distance. He saw Phytheas' horrified expression and uncomprehendingly he wondered why the Ithacan looked like that. It was the last thing he saw before blacking out.

* * *

He awoke to pain. His hand went for his side and to his surprise he felt bandages. Though his eyes had been open from the first, he only now realized that the strange construction above him was a hut, a war hut to be precise, as he had seen once before.

He remembered that it had been in Troy, on the beach: Achilles and he had spent all of their nights in the city, but one night his new husband had insisted they stay on the beach. He had said that the stars were more beautiful to watch outside the city and so they lay hand in hand on the beach until Paris had become tired and Achilles carried him inside his hut. A hut very similar to this one.

Memory confused his mind, for as he listened for sounds, he heard a familiar voice. It had greeted him for many mornings and bid him a good night in the evenings for months before he had to do without it. Achilles, he thought tiredly.

He frowned. Achilles? Was he not far from here … in Messenia? And where was he? In Messenia, he realized.

Needing the truth, he removed the covers that had been spread over him, and stood slowly. Pain wracked his body and he stilled for a moment to wait for the hurt to dull. It retreated to a throb and he dared walk to the entrance. Pushing the flap aside, he leant heavily against the doorframe as he surveyed the scene in front of the hut.

"What in Ares' name where you thinking? Were you thinking at all? What were you trying to prove by bringing **him** into a war zone?"

Odysseus looked tired and wracked with guilt. His shoulders were slumped, his clothing dirty and stained with blood. It was his own blood, Paris realized. And the man shouting at Odysseus was none other than Achilles.

"Stop!" Paris shouted, though it was more of a load croak. It was enough to get the men's attention. Odysseus looked relieved and started towards him as if he wanted to go support him, but he held back.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," Achilles told him, frowning in both concern and irritation.

"I will not rest while you so wrongly condemn Odysseus. Come inside, husband, so that I may tell you what has happened since you left Phthia. Your men need not hear my accusations to you."

Achilles' frown deepened and he looked as if he wanted to protest. But he caved in; whether because Paris was ordering him, or because the white-knuckled grip on the doorframe showed that the Trojan neared the end of his strength, it was impossible to tell. Leaving Odysseus behind, Achilles supported Paris back inside.

* * *

_I just noticed that I posted the first chapter to this story exactly one year and one month ago. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my reviewers, especially those of you who have stayed with me for such a long time. I know updates haven't exactly been very frequent but it's going well now and I hope to continue like this._

_Teaser Chapter 14: **"Paris' Wrath and Forgiveness"**_

_"I missed you."_

_"We have to leave immediately"_

_"My lord, it looks like an animal. A dog maybe, or a horse."  
_


	14. Paris' Wrath and Forgiveness

_Note: Apologies to everyone who has this story on their subscribed list: I edited the first chapter (again). There were some lines which I really didn't like at all and wanted to change so that's why you probably received an extra message. If you were confused, sorry. _

_**Beta: Litrouke**; Thanks to her Achilles' manliness was saved._

* * *

**Chapter 14: Paris' Wrath and Forgiveness**

"Have you nothing to offer me to drink?" Paris demanded once he had lain back down on his husband's pallet.

Achilles generally did not respond well to being ordered around (as Agamemnon could attest to). But he hesitated only briefly before fetching some watered wine. Paris drank deeply; he was parched.

"When did we arrive?" he asked curiously.

"Just a short while ago. Odysseus rode the horses through the night; it is early morning now. I checked your bandages and put you to rest."

Paris nodded. "The news I bring is dire, but a lot of time has passed since we left Phthia and even more will pass until we return to your homeland, so another moment's respite will not be of great importance." Paris paused, watching Achilles who sat next to the bed, his leg bent with his hands resting folded on his knee and his chin on top. He was tense, Paris saw, and if he looked closely then he could see that the Myrmidon looked as if he had not slept well recently.

"Do you remember when we met? What you promised me then?" Paris asked.

Achilles could and had stared down whole armies of warriors, the so-called best fighters of other lands and their kings, yet he could not hold his husband's angry gaze now.

"I remember," he admitted in a low voice, knowing already where this was heading.

"You promised me a good life; you promised to protect me. I, too, made promises. And while you left me alone behind in Phthia, where your father would have had me removed from our rooms, I kept my promises of fidelity though I admit I was tempted."

Still Achilles would not meet his eyes. "Aphrodite came to me and suggested as much. She said it was uncertain if you would return. I also saw you and Odysseus lying on an island. You were unconscious and I would have gone to find you but the goddess would not tell me where you were," the warrior admitted.

Again Paris nodded in acknowledgement. The fact that Achilles would have searched for him pacified him slightly.

"Tell me, was it worth coming here?" he asked.

Achilles shook his head slowly. "Glory does not wait for me anymore. And…" now Achilles reached for Paris' hand lying in his lap and took it gently, "I missed you."

The Trojan would not immediately answer. Achilles continued.

"Please," and it must have been the first time that word came over Achilles' lips, "stay. I promise to try to do better. I will not stray from your side anymore and if my harshness repulses you…" he trailed off helplessly. Paris tugged at his hand until Achilles leant over him. Reaching up, Paris wrapped his arm around Achilles, kissed his lips quickly to silence him before tightening the embrace and resting his cheek against Achilles' hair.

"We were attacked," the Trojan finally revealed. Achilles pulled back to look at him in shock.

"A man named Aischylos. He spoke against your father and raised his hand against me. Patroclus went to take revenge on my part, I think, and the men found him gravely injured after he had not returned. I do not know what happened exactly; I do not even know how badly he was hurt. That same night your mother sent me to find you."

"Patroclus," Achilles released him to jump up agitatedly. "We must leave immediately."

Paris had risen off his bed and supported himself with a hand behind his back, though it hurt.

"Yes, we do. But think, husband: it took us days until we were shipwrecked, and then we were further delayed until we had arranged for a new ship. We took a shortcut over land but the Myrmidons will have to take all of the ships. The return journey will easily take another few days! By the time we return more than fourteen days will have come and gone. We do not know what we will come back to, but we have to be prepared for the worst and acting rashly now will not help us."

"If we hurry, we will be able to break camp today and sail first thing tomorrow. I do not want any further delays, though you are right."

"You have a point as well. The sooner we leave the better." With a sigh, Paris lay back. Immediately, Achilles was next to him.

"Do you hurt? I am sorry, but Odysseus has already done for you all that is possible. I will change your bandages today but other than that there is nothing I can help you with."

Reassuringly, Paris patted his concerned husband's hand. "Do not worry about it. I am not dead and that is more than I can say about the man who attacked me. Did Odysseus tell you about that?"

"He said that you had met some rebels or bandits. He brought my sword as well, saying you carried it."

Paris chuckled. "Oh yes, your mother gave it to me. Odysseus and … another man taught me the best they could. But we were pressed for time and during that fight I was caught off-guard from behind."

"If you like, I will teach you more."

"That might be useful, yes. Go now to see to your men. I am tired and need rest."

Achilles stood to leave.

"Oh, and one last thing: offer Odysseus the hospitality due. You owe him twice for my life and also a good part of my return. He carries no fault in what happened."  
"He should have protected you better," Achilles insisted.  
"Nobody could have prevented what happened. He did his best. And besides, he is your friend and I would call him mine as well."  
The warrior huffed a little but decided to give in. "Very well. I will do as you wish."

Achilles left the hut and Paris drifted off. Due to the pain, the sleep he fell into was only light. He did not realize that he slept the whole day away. When Achilles returned, the warrior joined him in bed, wrapping an arm carefully around the Trojan. Sighing in contentment, Paris laid his hand on the arm around his chest.

"I never wanted you to regret being with me," Achilles quietly told him.

"I know," Paris managed to answer sleepily before he returned to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Achilles was loath to wake Paris. Dawn was just approaching, but his men were ready to leave and Peleus' son could not be delayed further. Paris could sleep on the ship, he thought, and he decided that he would disturb his husband as little as possible: the warrior pulled away the covers and lifted the Trojan carefully with his hands beneath his back and his shoulders, the head falling to rest on his chest.

His precious burden safely in his arms, Achilles carried him outside, taking care not to jostle the young man, but in the end it proved useless. The pain of his wound being jarred woke Paris and, with a groan, Paris opened his eyes.

"Achill…," he moaned, partly in pain, partly still asleep.

"Hush," Achilles tried to calm his husband. But once the prince realized that he was being carried, he struggled.

"Down," he instructed shortly and Achilles gave in, carefully setting him on his feet though his arms stayed around him to steady him.

Sleepily, Paris blinked at his surroundings. Working through the night, the Myrmidons had finished preparing the ships, thirty in total. The only task left was to load Achilles' belongings on board and break down the huts.

Paris yawned. His hand went for his injured side but Achilles intercepted him.

"Don't touch it. You will only make it worse. It needs to heal."

Leaning on Achilles, Paris watched the Myrmidons at work. If Paris had wanted, he could have gone to Achilles' ship and rested there. But there was one last issue to resolve. And as if the gods had been listening, several men approached them: Odysseus and the Ithacans. The king greeted first Achilles, then his husband.

"You know if we could, we would follow you to fight for your country immediately," the Ithacan said to Achilles.

"I know, my friend," Achilles answered, much more pleasant Paris noticed than the day before. "But your men are injured and exhausted. Besides, it is my country and I have men enough to put any usurpers to rout."

"You are right of course," Odysseus agreed. He turned to Paris. "So this is goodbye for us, at least for now. I still remember my promise to you," the Ithacan smirked. "And I'll be by next year or so, once I've seen my friend Diomedes and assured him of my perfect health."

Odysseus held out his hand to clasp but Paris would not leave it at that: taking the hand in his, he stepped close and wrapped the other arm around Odysseus' neck in a hug.

"Thank you. And I'll hold you to that promise," Paris said simply.

Odysseus smiled and returned the hug briefly. Then he clasped arms with Achilles.

"What promise?" the warrior asked slightly suspiciously.

Paris laughed cheerfully. "Nothing you need to know about," he answered, and Odysseus winked at him.

Standing mournfully with the other Ithacans was Phytheas. He threw admiring looks at Achilles but the fact that his newfound friend Paris was leaving dampened his spirits. Paris left the commanders behind to farewell him. They hugged tentatively.

"Maybe I get to see you next year when the king goes to visit Phthia. I would love to see you again. We might even be able to really train our sword fighting together!" Phytheas enthused.

Odysseus raised an eyebrow. "We'll see about that," he commented, causing Phytheas' face to fall.

"You can't leave him behind!" Paris argued heatedly before he caught the mischievous glint in Odysseus' eyes. "If he isn't with you when next you visit, I will refuse to see you," he added for good measure though he knew now that Odysseus had only been jesting.

"Where will you go now?" the Trojan prince turned to Odysseus.

"We might rest for another day or two and then return to Sparta – more carefully and without incidents this time I hope! Then we will take the ship to Ithaca, maybe drop in on Diomedes before going home."

"I see."

Achilles, concerned for his husband and seeing that the Trojan was still hurting, went to him.

"Come," he said, "let's go on board. You need rest."

Paris was indeed tired and hurting, so he did not protest as Achilles gave a final nod to Odysseus and then took the Trojan by the hand to lead him to his ship. Paris waved to Phytheas and followed Achilles.

* * *

If Poseidon held his protecting hand over them then, Achilles had predicted, they could reach Phthia in four days. They were both nervous as to what they would find once they were back home but there was no use making assumptions without even being near the island.

Paris used the time instead to speak to Achilles. He took care to name neither Thales nor Mykonos when he spoke of the voyage with Odysseus. Achilles noticed this avoidance; he knew already that his husband had been shipwrecked on Mykonos as Odysseus had told him, but the Ithacan had glossed over the details of their stay on the island. He decided not to call Paris on this. It did not matter, he thought, as the Trojan was back at his side where he belonged and he would not leave there as long as Achilles could prevent it.

They shared the same bed during the nights. Paris had difficulty falling asleep in the evenings due to his wound which had to be tended to every day; in the mornings, once he had finally fallen into a deep sleep, he was hard to wake and Achilles happily left him in slumber. There was nothing for the Trojan to miss.

The last morning before arrival, Paris woke early. For a moment he wondered why; then he became aware of the muffled pants behind him. Having been married for almost a year now, he knew those sounds well and he wanted to snort as he recognized them.

He turned to see his husband lying just next to him, eyes closed and forehead creased almost in concentration at which Paris wanted to laugh again. The covers prevented the Trojan from seeing exactly what his husband was doing but he didn't need to see the action to know that Achilles had decided to give himself relief without waking Paris. The Trojan did not appreciate being left out.

Boldly he shifted his body until they touched from shoulder to knee; Achilles' eyes opened in surprise but he had no time to react before Paris' lips hungrily devoured his and the Trojan's hand joined his beneath the covers. It had been a long time for Paris, too, and while he had not noticed it earlier, he found now that he had missed not only Achilles' presence, but also his body and the pleasure the Myrmidon could give him.

Achilles reluctantly broke the kiss. "Maybe we shouldn't…" he started though his protest was cut off by a groan that escaped him as Paris' thumb stroked over him teasingly.

"Yes we should," Paris enforced. Deciding that his husband would not take the lead without more encouragement, the Trojan took over by rolling on top of the warrior and engaging him in another hungry kiss.

Eventually, all arguments fled from Achilles' mind and he accepted the Trojan's offering. It was their first time since the Myrmidons had left for war, and their joining was frenzied, led by desire more than deep emotion; oil was spilled on the floor in their haste and bruises inflicted on hips and thighs.

Afterwards, they lay exhausted next to each other, sweat and other fluids making their bodies sticky and smell. They cared not as they rested in each other's arms and hands absently petted and stroked whatever skin they could reach while they calmed their breathing.

They were still dozing and near sleep when Eudorus knocked on their door.

"My lord," he called, "we are nearing home."

Achilles groaned into Paris' neck.

"Coming," he called back slightly muffled. Regretfully, he left the Trojan's arms. Their only possibility of washing was a basin of water and a washcloth. The warrior gave himself a cursorily rubdown, knowing that the smell of sex could not be disguised with such meager means and in short time.

He needed to get his mind back on the topic. Phthia was nearing which meant that soon they would either be welcomed by his father, or by the enemy troops of a usurper. He chose his warrior clothes. The armor would wait but the sword he strapped on immediately.

Abruptly, Paris rose as well and did as Achilles had. They climbed on deck together.

Eudorus was standing at the prow, his eyes trained on the shores of Phthia, which were barely visible at the horizon. Achilles and Paris joined him. It was near silent on the ship as everyone rowed and waited to hear from the commanders what they could see. The nearer they came, the more details they could make out: the difference in color between rocks and grass and beach, then the docks of the Myrmidons where Paris had been surprised by the disguised king of Ithaca.

Looking around, Paris felt somehow reassured by the many other ships next to them and behind them. Those warriors would surely support them should there be battle. Still, his hand tightened around the sword sheathed in the belt he had wrapped around him when preparing. Achilles noted his tenseness and laid a calming hand on his shoulder, squeezing in reassurance.

"Should there be trouble," the Myrmidon instructed, "you will stay here below deck. I can leave some men behind to guard you if you want…"

The Trojan shook his head. "I don't want to remain here."

"Paris, it would be better if you were not in battle. I could not concentrate if I knew you were there as well and what if something happened to you again?"

Stubbornly, Paris wanted to refuse again. Achilles, however, pulled him harshly into an embrace, rested his cheek on Paris' hair and spoke into his ear in a low voice.

"You must stay. I will not lose you, do you hear?" The tone told Paris that the topic was not up for discussion and he knew that Achilles was right in that he did not belong into a fight. Reluctantly he nodded his consent. Achilles kissed his forehead and his lips in mute thanks.

They were near enough now to see the ships at the coast. Their number seemed neither particularly great nor small, which meant that trade at least had not stopped as it would during war and there could not be a significant number of outsiders in Phthia. None of the ships looked to be made for war. But still…

"One of the ships sails under colors," Eudorus commented. Achilles strained his eyes; indeed, while normal merchant ships' sails went white and unmarked, only a nation's ships carried a sign.

"Send a lookout to see what kind," he instructed. Eudorus chose a young man who nimbly climbed the mast. Achilles, too, leant over the railing as if he could see further then. At last the lookout called down.

"My lord, it looks like an animal. A dog maybe or a horse."

"A horse?" Paris asked, surprise and anticipation raising his voice.

Achilles frowned. He, too, could instantly name one prominent person who would most likely fly such sails. The question was: could he look forward to this meeting, if his consort was indeed right in his assumption?

The Trojan did not notice his husband's darkened features. His body tingled with impatience, his heart called out to step on shore soon and a single name fell from his lips with joy:

"Hector!"

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_That's it for today. I can't say when the next chapter will be posted as it isn't even finished yet. Still I'll give you a small glimpse of what I have so far:_

**_Teaser_**

_"His funeral has been taken care of?" - "His body has been prepared. We wanted to wait with the pyre until you had returned."_

_"Now you must choose: renounce your family ties to him or be the first to die!"_

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_Thanks for reading; please leave a review._


	15. Family

_Beta: Litrouke_

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**Chapter 15: Family**

The ships steadily approached Phthia. The Myrmidons on deck hurried to dress themselves in their armor while their commanders stood at the bow, trying to gauge the situation on land and waiting to give the appropriate orders. Was their country overrun by rebels, in which case there would be enemies awaiting them, or was Phthia as peaceful as a country of born warriors could be? Coming closer, they indeed saw crowds gathering at the docks, waiting for them. But soon it became evident that the people were not occupants or usurpers but rather their families: wives, sons, daughters and parents come to welcome their warriors back home.

No words would stop Paris now. He followed the men on land. The people cheered for their returned men and eagerly embraced them. However, the atmosphere still seemed subdued, and not because of any losses suffered during the war. None dared meet Achilles' blue gaze and none would tell him where his family was or why they did not welcome them. They merely directed him to the palace. Achilles, Paris, Eudorus and a small group of trusted Myrmidons made their way to the large building on the hill. And there, on the stairs in front of it, stood Thetis, her face stern with only a small smile upon seeing her son.

"Mother," Achilles greeted her, jumping up the stairs to kiss her cheek and receive a kiss of welcome on his forehead. Before he could ask her where his father was, the front doors were thrown open and a man strode out into daylight.

His clothing consisted of a blue chiton, belted at the waist with a sword strapped to his hip. He wore little jewelry, only a chain around his neck with square silver pieces attached to a necklace of blue beads. Despite the fact that he wore no armor, any man would have realized from the way he carried himself with confidence and pride, and his muscular build, that he was a great warrior. The brown, curled hair was so similar to Achilles' consort's, the man's beard and fierce features, however, very different. The family resemblance aside, Achilles had recognized him in an instant even though his personal meetings with him had been few and short.

Just like months back, the man's brown eyes rested unflinchingly on his, his mouth tight with displeasure, as always, when speaking with Achilles.

"Where is Paris?" were the man's only words. Achilles might have denied the Trojan immediate answer simply to spite him if his husband had not pushed himself to the front of the group and loped up the stairs to throw himself at the man.

"Hector!" Paris jubilated, his arms tight around the Trojan crown-prince's neck, and it was all he could do not to wrap his legs around Hector as well, as he had done when he was younger.

"My brother," Hector sighed. His strong arms encircled Paris' waist, squeezing his brother to him. He breathed in Paris' scent with his nose buried in his brother's curls, all tension falling away from him as he beheld his baby-brother in good health.

Achilles watched the Trojans' reunion with possessiveness and jealously. He wished Hector could still detect the Myrmidon's musk on his brother's skin but under the tang of the sea it was unlikely.

Suddenly, Paris hissed and removed his brother's arm from his side where it had pressed painfully on his wound.

"You are injured," Hector stated, his eyes narrowing in worry for Paris and anger at whoever the assailant had been. He swallowed hard, mourning his brother's lost innocence and shot Achilles a deadly look which seemed to say 'Where were you when this happened?'

Paris took no notice of this exchange. Over his brother's shoulder, Paris was the first to discover another person slowly limping through the doors, supported by the Myrmidons' healer Agapios.

"Patroclus! Oh, thank the gods you are alive!" he called in relief, leaving Hector's arms and approaching his husband's cousin. He did not dare touch him however, staying a foot away from him instead. Patroclus' skin was of an almost waxen pallor; he was breathing heavily and haltingly, as if it had cost him great strength to move from his bed. White bandages were visible beneath the chiton at the shoulder, probably covering his chest as well, and his arm lay in a sling.

"Patroclus!" The anxiety Achilles had felt all the way from Messenia eased. Carefully, he cupped Patroclus' face and kissed his temple in greeting.

His young cousin smiled happily at Paris and Achilles despite his injuries. To Achilles he said:

"It is good to see you both. Come inside, there is much to discuss."

Thetis had already gone ahead inside so Achilles took over supporting his cousin and entered the palace, Paris following with Hector at his side, and the rest of the Myrmidons taking up the rear. They went to the throne room which lay empty and silent. The windows were shaded with black cloth. The same material enveloped the throne. Achilles halted in alarm.

"Mother…" he questioned her, eyes disbelieving, begging her almost to say that his suspicions were wrong. Paris and the other Myrmidons were also shocked.

Thetis had taken up position next to the covered throne. Her eyes were sorrowful as she relayed the painful message:

"I am sorry, my son. Your father fell victim to Aischylos and his men, who attempted to claim the throne. He did not survive. It is only due to Prince Hector's unexpected arrival that more murders were prevented."

Tears threatened to blur Achilles' eyes. He forced them back and asked between clenched teeth:

"When did it happen?"  
"Five days after Paris left," Thetis replied.  
Achilles' fists balled. "His funeral has been taken care of?"  
"His body has been prepared. We wanted to wait with the pyre until you returned."  
"He will not be burned until we have found his murderers and sent them to Hades," Achilles determined.

Then he slowly turned on his heel to look at Eudorus, muscles tense in anger.

"Aischylos is your brother. Now you must choose: renounce your family ties to him or be the first to die!"

Paris gaped in surprise. So that had been the reason he had thought Aischylos so familiar! Achilles' eyes were hard as stones and Paris could see that Eudorus feared Achilles. Still the Myrmidon commander forced his voice to remain steady:

"My lord, we do not share the same father, as you know. And my allegiance has ever been to you. It will continue to be so. Aischylos must pay."

Achilles maintained his hard stare for a time. At last he seemed satisfied and turned back to his mother.

"Can I see Father?"  
"Of course. Come."

They left the throne room. Paris turned to his brother for support from the news. He leant against Hector's chest who laid an arm around him.

"I am glad you are here. But will you tell me why?" Paris asked him.  
"Can I not miss my little brother?"  
Paris only laughed a little. "Tell me."  
"I wanted to see how you are doing. If the Myrmidon treats you right. Besides, I thought you would like to hear news from Troy."  
"Let us go somewhere more private. You can tell me there."

Taking Hector's hand, he led him outside. The crown-prince already knew the house and its surroundings. He had spent more than a week there and protected Thetis and her household of any further attacks.

The brothers sat down on a bench in the garden. After studying his brother for a moment, Hector started:

"You look good. But how did you come by that injury?"

So Paris went first by telling his brother about what had happened in Phthia when Achilles left for war, his differences with Achilles' father, Patroclus, how Thetis had sent him away, his voyage with Odysseus. He spoke hesitantly, but then more openly about Thales, proudly revealing that he had started to learn sword-fighting, and recounted the happenings in Sparta and finally the attack on their way to Messenia.

"That is a lot you have experienced," Hector commented once Paris had finished. He hesitated slightly before giving Paris a quick embrace and a kiss. "I'm proud of you." Then he laughed a little. "That makes the happenings in Troy look like nothing. I'm not sure I should bore you with them."

Paris punched him in the shoulder. "Tell me!" Hector raised an eyebrow at the gesture; just a year ago, Paris would never have done this.

"Really there is not much to tell. Father and Mother are well, as are our brothers and sisters. Trade is flourishing and Father is planning to – "  
"Spare me the politics," Paris interrupted. "Tell me about your family."  
Hector smiled a little. "Andromache misses you and your help in minding Astyanax. The next months will be even more difficult for her. I think she could have the servants take care of Astyanax, but you know how she is: she insists that being with family is better for our son. So now our dear cousin Briseis will have to step in."

"Why? Andromache can handle it or is she sick?"  
"Not sick exactly." A look of pride and elation lit up Hector's face. "She is pregnant."  
Paris was delighted. "Truly? That is great news!" He embraced his brother. "I'm so glad for you," Paris told him. "You deserve the happiness."  
Hector returned the embrace. "So do you. You deserve happiness even more than I. I cannot help but wonder if you will receive it here."

Paris pulled back. "Really brother, you worry too much. Achilles is trying and I have friends here who, if necessary, will remind him of his promises: Patroclus, for one, and Odysseus, too."  
"Very well then. I will not say any more."  
"Let's go back inside then."

* * *

As the sun set, Achilles had his captains, most notably Eudorus as well as other men who had served as Peleus' councilors, called into the great hall for a feast. Achilles sat at the head of a large table, the middle one of three in the hall, which he shared with those people of importance.

Thetis, Paris, and Hector were at another table, as they were not directly involved in the discussions set for today. Patroclus had opted to eat in his rooms, having been up most of the day and still tiring very quickly.

Before the meal was to be served, Achilles stood, thumping on the table twice to gain every man's attention.

"Myrmidons. While I was away, Aischylos, son of Erichthonius, attacked my cousin Patroclus and murdered my father, your king. Let it be known right now that I will avenge my father! I will show no mercy for conspirators, no matter who they are, and I will not show mercy to their helpers!" Achilles' rage was clearly visible in his drawn eyebrows, his hand that tightened to a fist and his voice which had steadily risen during his speech. He paused, forcing himself to calmness, opening his hand.

"I will not put the torch to my father's pyre as long as his murderers are out there. I will be blunt: there are few people here of whose loyalty I am absolutely certain. All others are here to give them a chance to prove their trustworthiness. Those who knew of the conspiracy and did not prevent it, or those who helped Aischylos and his men, I will find and punish. Once I have taken my revenge, all of Phthia will call me king. Tonight I will rest. But tomorrow, I will make my plans."

Achilles' eyes swept over the men at his table. There were few people who were able to hold his gaze. Many were stunned at being told that they might not be trusted by their future king and few felt certain of their place. Those who knew where they stood with Achilles were Eudorus and other warriors who had long proven themselves in battle. Their eagle-sharp gazes flew from face to face as if to find those people Achilles did not trust.

Silence hung heavily in the room. Achilles sat back down, waving for the servants that had been waiting attentively, to serve the meal.

Paris ate slowly, his husband's words ringing in his head, making him uneasy. Did Achilles really mean that among the people who entered and left the palace at will there could be followers of Aischylos? Hector must have perceived his thoughts for he reached for his brother, squeezing his arm reassuringly. Thetis remained calm. A black veil covered her hair but she showed no other signs of her grief. Turning to Paris, she commented:

"Do not worry, Paris. Your brother will protect you and so will Achilles. Nothing will happen to you."

Paris knew to believe her, but this did not make the food lie any less heavily in his stomach. Other people seemed to feel the same, and Achilles himself also ate little. Instead, it seemed that he drank down one goblet of wine after another.

Paris left the feast at the earliest opportunity. In his brother's company, he took a walk through the gardens. They spoke of little things, remembering moments they shared back in Troy until Paris had no words left. They watched the stars in silence, the distant sound of the waves breaking on the shore soothing them.

Hector accompanied him back to his quarters where the brothers bid each other goodnight. The bedroom was dark. An oil lamp had been left on but it burned so lowly that Paris was barely able to see by it.

Achilles turned abruptly, a dagger ready in his hand. Paris froze.

"It's me," he whispered.

The dagger remained poised in the air for another moment before being lowered and sheathed. Paris approached the bed and Achilles wordlessly made way for him, drawing the covers aside.

Paris quickly removed his clothing, hesitating as he wondered if he should put on a sarong at least.

"Come," Achilles called for him, adding on second thought a "please."

Nude, Paris slipped into bed beside his husband. The Trojan was nowhere near sleep and he knew that neither was Achilles. He waited.

"I never thought it would be like this," Achilles finally whispered. The Myrmidon said no more. But Paris was perceptive enough to hear the shock in Achilles' voice. Achilles had been surrounded all day by people in whose faces he had forced himself to be strong. Now, in their bedroom after nightfall, Achilles needed to let go. Paris reached for him. He tugged him close and the Myrmidon willingly bedded his head on Paris chest, wrapping his arms around the slender Trojan.

Paris heard nothing. But Achilles' arms tightened around him, his face buried in the Trojan's chest, and Paris felt wetness drop onto his skin. Paris returned the embrace, slowly stroking and petting his husband's hair as he mourned. He did not even dare whisper soothing nothingness as his mother had done, so fragile was the moment.

Achilles allowed himself to let go, trusting his husband completely. Even so, the warrior's tears ran dry soon. His arms relaxed and he returned the caresses bestowed on his head by stroking Paris' sides.

"I will be king," Achilles stated. He sounded incredulous at the fact.

Paris swallowed, blinking tears out of his own eyes. "So what does that make me? Queen?" he wondered in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Achilles chuckled, shoulders shaking and warm puffs of air teasing Paris' nipples. He lifted his head and leant over Paris. Their faces were so close they could now see each other clearly and Paris discerned that Achilles was serious.

"Prince consort. I will be king and you will be my prince consort."

The Myrmidon closed the distance between them and engaged Paris in a soft, slow kiss. On breaking it, Achilles gazed deeply into his eyes, searching for something. Then he glanced away.

"Tomorrow my men and I will start unraveling this treachery. You as well as the entire Aegean know what a warrior I am. I do not plan on losing. Yet…yet even the strongest warrior can be felled by a blind arrow." Achilles turned back to him. "I have always commanded the Myrmidons. But with Peleus gone, I am the last. We both thought we would have more time before needing to consider such matters. As things stand, however, there is one issue we should decide on now."

Briefly Paris closed his eyes. "An heir."

He did not need to see Achilles nod. The warrior removed one arm. Opening his eyes, Paris saw him reaching for the nightstand. There, Paris recognized the apple of Aphrodite: neatly cut into four pieces, it lay on a plate, the pips collected to one side. And beside the plate there was a small vial of oil which he remembered of many nights like this one.

Achilles took one of the apple slices. It hovered just before Paris' lips. "Will you?" the Myrmidon asked.

Wordlessly, Paris sat up and covered Achilles' hand with his own.

"I have learnt that I do not need this fruit to conceive. It will only enhance our passion for each other," Paris commented, turning the apple slice to see if it showed any differences to traditional food. Then, holding Achilles' gaze, he bit off a piece, chewing and swallowing until the slice was gone, nibbling at Achilles' fingers softly in a pretense to clean them. He reached for two of the pips. "Give the pips to Achilles," Thetis had instructed on sighting the apple. His husband took them without protest. Paris raised an eyebrow, silently inquiring about their taste. Achilles only shrugged, meaning to answer they had no aroma at all. Taking turns, they fed each other until the apple and the pips were gone.

Paris felt hot. He threw the covers off and reached for the oil.

"Do you wish me to prepare myself?"

Achilles took the vial out of his hand, shaking his head.

"I'll do it."

Paris made to turn onto his stomach but Achilles stopped him with a gesture. Instead, he put the vial aside. The Myrmidon wrapped his arms around his husband's slender form, pulling him close, kissing him hungrily. The apple did indeed have an effect and they were beginning to feel it. Warmth coursed through their bodies. Paris had meant to put little feeling into this union. Now, passion overrode whatever intentions they had originally had. They kissed lustfully, their tongues battling until they broke the kiss to turn their attention elsewhere. They licked, sucked, and stroked whatever skin they could reach without breaking their embrace.

Their organs touched; Achilles would not hold back anymore. He sat on his legs and settled Paris over him, upright with his knees spread on either side of Achilles' thighs. Continuing to kiss, Achilles removed the vial's cork, slathering his fingers with oil. This time he went so much deeper, going where he had not touched Paris before; soon, he would spill his seed to create new life.

Paris hardly felt any of the usual strain of preparation. He demanded more in a passionate voice and when Achilles gave it, he choked on his words and moans. To Paris it seemed that he was being speared, so different was it of the other times. Due to the passion surging through his blood he did not heed the strange feeling, attacking Achilles' lips instead, meaning to bend the Myrmidon to his will.

Achilles was similarly blinded by passion. He had a purpose and he was determined to achieve it, so determined that he would not yield to the Trojan, resulting in a brief battle of strengths which was soon decided in favor of Achilles. The warrior forced his husband onto his back, unmindful of Paris' reactions; the Trojan was helpless in Achilles' hands, but Paris did not have the mind to care anymore.

They were carried to new heights of passion they had not experienced before, and only after Achilles had recovered from his climax was he able to see that Paris had not spilled, nor was he inclined to. His eyes were half-lidded, his mind somewhere far away, clouded by ecstasy. Dimly Achilles thought that Paris too had peaked, though not in the usual way.

Carefully, he withdrew. Paris showed no response. Achilles took up a washcloth and cleaned himself and his near unconscious mate off. Then he returned to Paris' side and took him into his arms. He watched over him until a tremor announced the Trojan's return to wakefulness.

Paris' brows were furrowed in confusion as if puzzled about where he had been or how he had come back. And though he did not know those things, he sounded certain as he announced: "It is done." Without waiting for a response, he burrowed into the Myrmidon's arms and went to sleep.

* * *

_Again there is reason to give thanks, this time to my reviewers. Over 100 reviews have been submitted, much more than I had ever dared hope. Thanks also to the anonymous reviewers whose positive reactions always make me happy. Totally against my expectations, this story is now 100 pages long. I expect a good bottle of mead for this. Anyone else want some?_

_Due to the length we have already covered__ it is only natural that Forging of Bonds is nearly at its end. Depending on how much plot I manage to put into one chapter I expect there are about three to five chapters to come._

_One thing __completed already is the appendix which explains some technical things I came across on the topic of the ancient times. Its content: traveling on ship and on horseback, a listing of the mentioned gods, the question of where Achilles lived (some may have noticed the fact that fandom is not unanimous on this), some maps to give an overview of the Aegean and its nations and a (so far) rough timeline of this story. As it is a little too long to put on ff-net and the site doesn't allow extra chapters for author's notes, I will probably only include a shortened form of the most interesting facts like traveling and Achilles' home at the end. If anyone is interested in the complete thing (or even only the parts not related to Forging of Bonds) don't hesitate to contact me via email or pm. I'm happy to share the research with whoever is interested. Alternatively I am thinking of posting it on the discussion forums (in which case I'll let you know)._

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_**Teaser**__ for chapter 16 (half-finished):_

"_Do not expect me to be very fond of you just yet. But I will call you family."_

"_You must believe me, my lord, I had no idea it would come to this!"_

"_He wants to force us to come closer," Eudorus commented. Achilles only nodded. "And we will have to do him that favor."_

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_**Thank you for reading. Comments are always greatly appreciated.**_


	16. Fight for Phthia

_Thanks to my beta Litrouke_

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**Chapter 16: Fight for Phthia**

"Stop!"

Paris jerked up, all traces of sleep gone. Next to him, Achilles was already throwing aside the covers, snatching up a sarong and his sword off the wall.

"Halt!" The voice came from outside and Paris recognized it in an instant.

"That's Hector," Paris cried out and made to leave the bed. Achilles, halfway out the room, turned back.

"Stay," he instructed shortly.

Their rooms were located at the back of the palace on the ground floor. The window through which they had heard the noise faced the gardens, which were surrounded by a wall intended to keep trespassers out.

Rounding two corners, Achilles burst out the door just in time to see Hector throw a spear with deadly precision. A death cry pierced the air and in the dim morning light, Achilles was able to make out a body dropping backwards off the wall into the gardens, the very place he had obviously been trying to escape from.

Both men rushed to the downed man, Achilles arriving only an instant after Hector. The spear had gone cleanly into the man's back and out the chest. He had died almost instantly. Due to the fall, the spear had broken off. Hector pushed the man onto his back with his foot.

"Do you recognize him?" he inquired.

Achilles nodded. "That is Hieron, son of Phidias. Phidias was one of my father's councilors. He was here yesterday evening as well. Hieron I haven't seen in years."

"I suggest you speak to Phidias, see what he knows."

Achilles agreed. Shouts announced the palace guards coming, Eudorus at their head.

"It's over; he's dead. Search the surroundings to see if there are any more."

"Yes, my lord," Eudorus instructed two of his men to remove the body while the others spread out.

Achilles turned to Hector. "How did you notice him?"

"I guessed that Aischylos might make an attempt against you. He knows you would be tired after arriving. I have guarded this house during the last two weeks. You didn't seriously think I would stop doing so when my brother is in it?"

The Myrmidon nodded in grudging understanding, annoyed at his own oversight. The warriors' eyes met. Briefly, Achilles looked back to the palace and thought he could make out Paris at the window.

"Thank you for protecting my family." It came over his lips somewhat forced and Hector must have heard this in his voice for he could not prevent a brief smile.

Turning serious, he said: "There are deeds you committed during the war which I cannot forget. But if you make Paris happy, I will do anything to safeguard this happiness. Paris is not only your family: before he married you, he was mine and I still count him to be one of mine."

Hesitantly, Achilles offered his hand. "Brothers?"

Hector studied him hard. No less hesitantly did he clasp the Myrmidon's arm. "Do not expect me to be very fond of you just yet. But I will call you family."

"I will be satisfied with that. I'm sure my son will appreciate that as well when you give him lessons in horsemanship." Achilles smiled, not least due to Hector's rather dumbfounded expression. The Myrmidon started back to the palace. Hector quickly caught up again:

"You mean…?"

Achilles shrugged. "Paris said so. I trust him to know such things better than I."

They entered the palace and met the returning guards.

"We found nothing. He seems to have been alone," Eudorus reported.

"Have Phidias brought here. Don't tell him why; escort him yourself, see if he makes any attempts to send a message. I'll get dressed," Achilles commanded.

Eudorus left with his guards. Turning to Hector, Achilles inquired:

"Have you been up all night?"

"Most of it."

"Then go rest now. I'm awake and I won't let Paris out of sight. I need to plan my move. I will wake you when I leave."

"Alright."

Hector was glad to return to his guest rooms. He had had little sleep these past couple of weeks and took every chance for a nap he could. On his way back, Achilles stopped a servant and instructed her to fill his bath.

Paris had meanwhile dressed in a loose chiton. After losing sight of his husband in the garden, he had paced the room anxiously, and on Achilles' entrance his head jerked up, eyes latching on to his husband.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Hector took care of an intruder who most likely would have attempted to attack us. Though how he thought to defeat me alone I have no idea."

"Was it somebody you know?"

"Yes. The son of one of my father's advisors. His father is being summoned as we speak. I want you to stay with me when I speak to him. Once I leave to eradicate that filth from my land, Hector will be rested enough to watch over you."

Paris' brows drew together. "I am no child you know."

Trying to placate his husband, Achilles drew Paris into his arms. "I know that. But while I and the other Myrmidons are gone, I need a warrior capable of protecting you should the rebels slip by us and come to murder you. Hector is such a warrior and I know he would protect you unto death." Achilles kissed him softly. Placing a hand on Paris' stomach, he beseeched him in a low voice: "Remember that you are not alone now."

Paris sighed in defeat. "You are right."

Closing his eyes, Paris rested his head on the warrior's chest, enjoying the other man's presence. Achilles rested his cheek on the Trojan's curls, his hands drawing slow circles on his husband's skin.

Their moment of peace was interrupted by servants entering the room with buckets of water. They separated and Achilles returned his sword to its proper place while the servants filled the bathtub in the next chamber silently and efficiently. Soon the couple sat in the tub together. With certain hands they cleansed each other, careful not to enflame their passion again. They dressed quickly, Achilles arming himself with his sword. With his husband's eyes averted, Paris slipped a dagger under the hem of his tunic and fastened it with a strap to his thigh.

On their way to the throne room, Paris noted how Achilles almost constantly scanned the hallways. They met with a few servants and a handful of Myrmidons on guard duty who Eudorus must have ordered to watch the palace.

Inside the throne room, Eudorus was already waiting with Phidias. The man was old, most certainly past his sixties as evident in his snow-white beard and hair. He was dressed in a hurried fashion which showed that the Myrmidon warriors had not given him much time to prepare and had most likely woken him up as well. The aged and wrinkled hands trembled as he lifted them to gesture while addressing Achilles immediately on the Myrmidon leader's entrance.

Eudorus beckoned Paris to settle on a chair behind the captain.

"My lord," Phidias began, "I do not understand why the men brought me here, but their dark looks promised nothing good. I wish to know now what crime I am accused of, for I have ever been a supporter of your father and cannot imagine any wrong done on my part." Phidias may have been old, Paris realized, but he still had his pride. And the trembling of his hands was not due to fear but to his age and the weakening of his body, a treacherous process of nature which all mortals eventually had to suffer.

Paris thought Achilles' features might have softened but it could also have been a trick of the light.

"I remember you well, Phidias, of when I was a child. Sometimes, when I sneaked into this very room to listen to the council in secret you saw me and slipped me some fruit or another. I also knew your son, though only in passing. Yet this very morning he lay before me, slain by my brother-in-law as Hieron attempted to escape after having been caught breaking into my house."

Phidias looked stricken. "My lord … I can't …" he stammered, unable to find words. His hands went to his temples in disbelief.

Achilles continued. "Due to Hieron's actions, I must assume that he is an active participant of the rebellion."

"I … I didn't realize…" Phidias' legs almost gave way and finally Achilles took pity on him, supporting the old man to a table where Paris guessed the council was usually held. Phidias sank into the seat. "You must believe me, my lord, I had no idea it would come to this!"

"Tell me then what you know. Everything."

Phidias swept a hand over his heated forehead. He suppressed the tears threatening on behalf of his son–and his own feelings of guilt.

"Aischylos has never been known to be a great supporter of your father. Yet it seemed unlikely that he would attempt to usurp him. When Hieron came to me saying that he had found a woman he liked and would like to marry, I gave my permission of course. I was glad for him. Kaethe was her name and I saw nothing wrong with her. She was hard-working, beautiful, and her parents were willing to marry her – what more could a father want for his son? What I knew back then but thought insignificant was her relation to Aischylos: they were cousins, and I did not realize how close their relationship was. Kaethe must have introduced Hieron to him."

Achilles did not readily belief that a man could so easily be ensnared as Phidias proclaimed his son had been. But he did not argue, as with Hieron's death it was irrelevant how exactly the man had joined the usurpers.

"Where does Kaethe's family live?"

"Not far from Aischylos' place. It is a house bigger than most, situated where the trade route between Tricca and Athens meets the one to Iolcus. Kaethe's father often puts up travelling parties and has established something of an inn."

"Is there anything else I should know?"

Phidias shook his head.

"I would ask you for your own sake not to leave the palace until the usurpers are taken care of. I will leave a few guards behind," Achilles said. He left unspoken that the guards would also watch that Phidias did not leave the house. The Myrmidon commander wanted to believe the old counselor but he would not leave anything to chance.

He went to Eudorus. Leaning close, the faithful captain informed him:

"I sent a few men this morning to Aischylos' house: he is not there. I know the inn Phidias mentioned; it is larger than Aischylos' place and might harbor him and his fellows."

Achilles nodded in agreement. "Get the men together. I want to bring this to an end as soon as possible."

Eudorus left to do as he was bid.

It took the better part of the morning to assemble the Myrmidons. In the meantime, Achilles had not been idle. He spoke with his mother, reassured Paris, and left a sacrifice in Ares' temple. Shortly before leaving, he woke Hector and explained his plan to him. The crown-prince in turn commanded the handful of Trojans he had come with and spread them over the palace grounds, keeping a personal eye on Thetis and Paris. Achilles' mother seemed unworried; Paris hid his anxiety behind a stony façade as he kissed Achilles farewell.

The inn of Kaethe's family lay on a hillock further into the country. Due to its position, the wooden building was easily spotted, and customers had no trouble finding it. Yet today, all lay quiet with not a single person to be spotted outside.

Achilles scanned the landscape. The area around them was treeless and almost completely devoid of bushes with grass being the only greenery. This meant that anyone inside the house looking out would immediately spot them, and most likely had become aware of them already. Still, they had to approach in some way and Achilles disliked hiding as he thought it a rather cowardly way to fight.

"Aischylos!" he bellowed, seeking to draw the man out. But there was no visible movement. Now he was certain that the man was hiding out in this house: for if the innkeeper and his family had been the only ones inside, they would surely have come out now.

"Aischylos, come out!" he shouted again though he knew already that it would be useless.

"He wants to force us to come closer," Eudorus commented.

Achilles only nodded. "And we will have to do him that favor." Turning to his Myrmidons he commanded: "Surround the house."

The warriors swarmed out. They had barely taken up their positions when Achilles lifted his sword and stormed up the hill.

They had covered about a half of the distance to the inn when a handful of arrows were shot at them. Achilles was barely able to put up his shield in time; some of his warriors were not so lucky and sank into the grass with cries of pain, clutching pierced limbs.

Still, Achilles pressed on. The archers were at the windows and once Achilles' men had reached the house, they would not be exposed to the arrows anymore.

Shortly before reaching the wooden wall, Achilles threw away his shield and flattened himself beside a window. Once the archer occupying the window reached out, he wrenched the bow from him, caught the man by his wrist and pulled him out of the window. Then he stabbed him with his sword before dropping him lifelessly to the ground.

Eudorus had managed to avoid the arrows as well and now took his place across Achilles on the other side of the window.

"We should just burn everything down," Eudorus spat.

"No," Achilles disagreed. "We will not act as cowards do."

"But if we enter the house, we will be at a disadvantage: we don't know the layout and they could be waiting on us behind every corner."

As displeasing as the thought was, Achilles knew that. After all, hadn't he used a similar strategy against Hector and the Trojans on the very first day of the war when sacking the temple of Apollo?

His brows drew together in thought. Finally, he met Eudorus' eyes and ventured: "Maybe your idea of burning the house down was not so bad at all." Without giving the rather astonished man a chance to answer, Achilles turned to the window and shouted inside:

"Aischylos! Why are you hiding like a coward? Come out and we'll finish this! Otherwise…," Achilles smirked, "we can just set fire to this building with you and your men still inside."

There was no immediate response. At last Aischylos' voice penetrated the stillness, sounding quite close to them.

"In that case you would be the coward. I have a different proposition for you instead. You are widely hailed as the greatest warrior in the world. I should not mind bending your proud back and having you crawl in the dust."

Achilles scoffed, thinking victory already near at hand.

Aischylos continued: "We will fight for Phthia. And afterwards, when I have won, I will remove that dog of a Trojan crown-prince from this country and his pretty brother shall warm my bed."

Enraged, Achilles drew up, thinking to storm the house on his own and skewer the man but Eudorus quickly held him back bodily. Achilles snarled.

"Alright!"

A mocking laugh reached their ears. The house's main door opened and Aischylos appeared in full armor: a black breast plate in the fashion of the Myrmidons covered his broad chest and a matching helmet was held carelessly in his left hand while his right grasped a pair of spears, his sword resting in its sheath at his waist.

Achilles sneered. So the traitor was suggesting a traditional duel with sword and lance?

"I see you have no weapon besides your sword," Aischylos remarked, dark eyes full of contempt and mockery. Without waiting for a response, the man threw Achilles one of the spears. The Myrmidon commander spared it only a cursory glance: he did not need to conduct a thorough examination to know that the weapon was of inferior quality. His hand had already taken note of the brittle wood, the head which sat loosely on the shaft, and the bad balance. He threw it back at Aischylos' feet.

The other man shrugged.

"If you think you have no need for it, that is your choice."

With a fluid move he put on the helmet, lifted his spear, and attacked without any warning. Achilles dodged to the side.

The surrounding Myrmidons' eyes were on the two combatants. Traditionally, spears were thrown right at the beginning of a battle before swords were used. That Aischylos kept his was evidence of a quite simple, though craven, reason: his reach with the spear was much longer than Achilles' with the sword.

Aischylos taunted the Myrmidon commander with thrusts and swipes which Achilles evaded. Neither he nor his supporters realized that their commander was being forced into a position with his back to the house. Any of Achilles' attempts to circle his enemy were foiled. Only at the last moment did he become aware of Aischylos' gaze which had brightened with triumph and was directed to some place behind the other warrior. Aischylos gave an almost imperceptible signal with his hand to his allies behind Achilles.

Aischylos lifted his spear high, thrusting at him from the right. Achilles thought to hear an arrow's flight and the surrounding Myrmidons cried out in alarm. Instead of retreating to the left, Achilles ducked below the approaching lance but could not avoid the sharp sting on his shoulder. The arrow he was meant to walk right into fell harmlessly into the grass. Achilles ignored the pain from the spear wound, confident of this battle's outcome: he met Aischylos' leap with his sword, cutting deep into the man's guts.

Achilles' men shouted in triumph. But their commander knew that their task of eradicating the country of traitors was not yet done.

"Into the house," he yelled, immediately leading the charge with Eudorus at his side. His own men quickly followed the order and Aischylos' lot also threw off their daze: they knew they would die now, as no Myrmidon would ever surrender, not even when their life was at stake. They would fight because that was what Myrmidons did no matter who commanded them.

The fighting inside was led by despair on the rebels' side. In the end, some men did surrender, but this did not lessen the amount of blood spilled as Aischylos' remaining followers were cut down. Eudorus went through the house thrice before he was satisfied that everyone had been taken care of. By the time he returned to Achilles' side he had also garnered information on the house's owners: Kaethe's and her parents' bodies had been found in the wine cellar beneath the kitchen. Their bodies were long cold, and the blood dried, so that Achilles and Eudorus could only assume that the family had been killed by the usurpers themselves long before Achilles' Myrmidons' attack though the reasons could not quite be uncovered. The surviving men claimed to have no knowledge of this event.

Paris saw the returning men long before they reached the house. Hector had made one exception he would likely never make again in his lifetime: he had ordered Paris to keep Thetis company in her room on the second floor while he stood watch over both of them in the same room. As a man, he visited his wife's chambers rarely, as he considered it her territory and respected this; to be in another woman's rooms was a completely novel concept and only conceivable due to security reasons.

Against repeated warnings of a possible arrow, Paris had spent Achilles' absence by the window on the lookout for his husband. Hector had a hard time keeping him from running out the house immediately on recognizing his husband.

They met downstairs in the entrance hall where Paris flew into Achilles' welcoming arms.

"Surely you did not doubt my return?" the blond warrior chuckled.

"It is one thing to believe in it but entirely another to see you."

Spotting the streak of blood on the warrior's shoulder, he added: "You are not completely hale either."

"It is but a scratch. Let us go to our room and tend it."

Turning to the expectant faces of his mother and the others who had stayed behind, Achilles announced:

"Aischylos is dead and his followers have been defeated. My oath is fulfilled and tomorrow my father can finally rest in peace."

* * *

"Are you satisfied now?"

"Well, I guess it is the best we could do under the circumstances," he sighed.

Aphrodite huffed. "Really, what else do you want? Instead of as a volatile, cold-blooded killer, your precious Achilles will be remembered as the one who defeated a rebellion, saved his country, and became king!" The goddess glared at him.

Ares lay in his halls on a blood-red divan with his back resting against a bolster and a goblet of wine in his left hand. He looked up at her, unmoving and silent in a way that conveyed that he thought she would never understand his mind and that she should just stop talking (because she could do so many better things when silent).

"You certainly achieved your plans: Paris survived, he has a lover, and now he is pregnant. The perfect life. And none of us noticed your interference until it was too late. Really, Aphrodite, you impressed me. Before this I wouldn't have thought you capable of hatching up such plans." And to himself, Ares swore to never ever underestimate the Goddess of Love again. In fact, in the future he would keep a close eye on her and not only because of her quite appealing body.

The look Aphrodite returned was quite proud. Just this morning Zeus had decided to let Athena's and Ares' accusations against Aphrodite, Apollo, and Dionysus go. Aphrodite knew that this had more to do with the fact that Zeus simply didn't want any great hassle on Olympus and as Athena had been the only one actively pushing for punishment, Zeus had left it at a reprimand to the three before going back to tending to his own affairs. Being the Goddess of Love, Aphrodite knew quite well where the godly Father's eyes were currently turned to and that it involved a mortal woman on earth. She also knew that once Hera found out about the woman, Zeus would have more important matters to turn to.

Athena, needless to say, had been furious. But, having no other choice, she had stormed off. Ares was still quite displeased but his outward calmness told Aphrodite that he was already working on another plan for Achilles. Aphrodite didn't mind. She had been joined by Hera and her son Hermaphroditos who were eager for Paris to give birth. As Ares had said, her plans had certainly been achieved.

* * *

_Thank you to all of those who reviewed the last chapter._

_Next: **Chapter 17: Breaking of Bonds**_

_Teaser will be in my profile once I have written more than a single page..._


	17. Breaking of Bonds

_**Beta: **Litrouke_

* * *

**Chapter 17: Breaking of Bonds**

The next day, shortly after dawn, Phthia laid its old king to rest. Paris could not help but be bewildered at Thetis' seeming lack of sorrow. Admittedly, he had not attended many funerals in his young life, for even during the war his eldest brother had sought to protect him from the harsher realities in life, but whenever he thought of funerals, he imagined grieving widows who tore their hair and strewed ashes on their heads. Thetis, however, did not betray any emotions of mourning.

The pyre was long and wide, for it did not only hold Peleus' body: the carcasses of several oxen had been laid down as a sacrifice. Women poured sweet-smelling oil and honey on it, and when Achilles put the torch to the pyre, it was quick to burn. Smoke rose in black clouds which made Paris' eyes tear up.

People from all over Phthia had come to witness this day and they all stood silently watching as their old king burned. Sparks flew, the wood cracked — with a crash the pyre caved in and still they waited for the fire to burn down.

When it finally burned low enough, Achilles squeezed Paris' hand briefly before stepping forward. He took up a skin of wine and extinguished the last flames with the dark red liquid. Paris watched mutely as Patroclus, Achilles, Thetis and several others stepped forward to collect the bones and ashes into an urn. Then the whole procession moved to the tomb which had already been prepared: many of Peleus' weapons and spoils gained in his younger years had been placed inside. The golden urn was the last item to be added before the tomb was closed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Paris took note of Thetis turning away and leaving, the throng of Myrmidons quickly swallowing her.

"She will return home now," Achilles commented. Paris started, as he had not heard his husband approach.

"Is Phthia not her home?" the Trojan asked in bewilderment.

"No, it has not been for a long time now. My parents' marriage was broken many years ago when I was a small babe, and my mother did not often dwell in this house. Now that my father is dead, there is no reason for her to remain chained to mortal earth. She will have gone back to the sea where companions dearer to her live."

Paris thought this strange but did not comment. The time for the funeral games had come: running, wrestling, archery, and a great chariot race were only some of the games' disciplines. Achilles, as the host, did not partake in them, nor did Patroclus due to his injuries. But the other Myrmidons enthusiastically took part in the games and not only to show honor to the late king.

After the games' ending, most people went home. Paris laced his fingers with Achilles' and together they walked into the feasting hall, where the last event awaited them. The funeral feast was to be held in the hall for immediate family but also former advisors of Peleus and supporters of Achilles: after all, the funeral was not only the end of the old king but also the beginning of the new king's reign.

Sunrays shining through the windows filled the hall with a golden glow and many saw this as the gods showing their favor for the new king. The chair at the head of the main table was gilded, perfecting the picture of a golden hall. The three tables were long, but still the Myrmidons sat densely packed at the lower two, the main table being permitted only to the nobles and personal guests of the king.

Achilles sat at the head and motioned for Paris to sit at his right. His left was occupied by Patroclus and Eudorus while Hector took a seat next to Paris. Quite a few strange looks were shot at Paris but the Trojan and Achilles ignored them, though Achilles made a mental note to address this issue. Obviously many still thought of Paris as a woman.

The servants were already busy filling goblets with watered wine. Achilles took a sip and observed as the hall filled with people. Briefly, he met Phidias' eyes and gave him a small nod of acknowledgement.

Then the meal was served. The servants brought the most tender of lambs flavored with spices from countries far away, fruit grown on Thessaly's fertile lands and fish which only hours ago had swam in the sea. The gathered men ate with relish and kept up conversation. And no few people noticed the fond eye Achilles kept on Paris, and the noble cheekbones set high in the consort's face which were stained with a lively blush, while his brother spoke with the new Myrmidon king, his brother-in-law.

When the first kegs of wine had been emptied and the meat plucked from the bones, Achilles rose from the table and the hall went quiet.

"People of Phthia. For many years, I was the prince of this land and commander of the best army in all of Greece." The men shouted in assent and Achilles, a proud smile tugging at his lips, had to wait until the noise ceased.

"As of today, I, Achilles, shall be your new king."

Again his boisterous men meant to erupt into cries. But Achilles lifted his left hand for silence while he reached for Paris with his right. And promptly it was so quiet one might have heard a pin drop.

Achilles was very aware of this. And so was Paris. Achilles clasped Paris hand in his and tugged the Trojan to his feet. Paris, at first, almost did not dare lift his head. But on his other side, Hector touched him softly on the leg in encouragement and Paris steeled himself and brought his chin up, gazing across the room without registering a single face.

"And Paris shall be my prince-consort, for he is most worthy of this title: he followed me to Messenia to warn me of the rebellion when a wife would have cowered in her room, and he fought in Messenia and has received a scar from it. I say he is worthy of being called a Myrmidon!"

Those who had not left Phthia could hardly believe their ears. But Achilles had closer allies, like Eudorus, who had witnessed Achilles in all of his moods, his warriors who had followed their commander to Messenia and seen the arrival of Odysseus and his men, and they agreed loudly so that none dared gainsay Achilles. And a great sense of relief flooded Paris and he smiled thankfully at the Myrmidon warriors which only caused them to shout louder.

Achilles could not resist Paris' beauty then: so inspired, he turned the young man's face towards him and kissed him deeply. A few courageous men bellowed encouragements and Paris blushed furiously while Achilles smiled against the Trojan's lips before breaking the kiss and signaling for silence.

"And there is more glad news: Paris has conceived and in due time we shall have a child to raise in these halls."

This time the hall's occupants raised their voices unanimously in joy. Frowns were wiped off even the most derogatory men's faces.

"In honor of my consort's protector, I have decided to have a temple for Aphrodite built, which is to be finished in time for our first child's birth. May the gods continue to bless this country and its people!" Achilles called and lifted his cup of wine, the people following the gesture. With his hand, the new king indicated for the servants to serve more wine. Dancers and musicians entered the hall. The crowd loosened some, with a few people leaving, others standing to better watch the dancers, and Paris used the opportunity to retreat to some couches in one of the great hall's alcoves. It would be a long night.

* * *

If the night before had been for the people of Phthia, the day after was for government affairs. Achilles was occupied all day by the council: he dismissed some men he disliked and promoted others he trusted. That, at least, was the theory of it. In fact, every man he wanted out found a way to argue with him. It seemed that his reputation as the most feared warrior in the Aegean had disappeared overnight once he became king. Thankfully, this occurred only with the first five or so men, after which everyone had understood that he was in no way less relentless than he had been before.

Having gotten up at dawn, Achilles had not seen Paris all morning. He was barely able to meet his husband, brother-in-law, and cousin for a quick lunch, which, however, was interrupted by the steward.

"King Achilles, messengers have arrived." The man's lips tightened in displeasure and he frowned. "They are from King Agamemnon."

Promptly the four men's faces darkened as well.  
"Did they say why they are here?" Achilles asked.  
"No, sire."  
The Myrmidon king wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Call them into the hall."

The steward bowed and left. Achilles and Patroclus went to the throne room. Paris disliked being left behind but understood that it was not his business, just as it was not Hector's business as a foreigner. Patroclus, on the other hand, was Achilles' cousin and his closest supporter. Thus there was nothing odd about Patroclus following the new king.

Achilles did not recognize the two men Agamemnon had sent. One was young, maybe seventeen years of age, and most certainly on his first important mission. Their message, however, was quick and to the point:

"King Agamemnon demands a token of your acceptance that he is high king of Greece."

The Myrmidon King frowned darkly. The mentioning of Agamemnon's name alone warranted this expression. Patroclus had to suppress his surprise at the Mycenaean King's demand. He chanced at look at his cousin and noted the thoughtful expression.

The messengers tried to press their point: "If you do not do as he says, he will have to assume that you are not acknowledging his position…"

"No," Achilles interrupted. "I will not give in to his demands."

The elder messenger who had spoken so far stepped closer, an angry expression on his face. Before he could even try to argue, Achilles continued.

"I will not cower before Agamemnon as the other kings of Greece. I will not acknowledge him as the king of kings. He is only a man who has others fight his battles." He sneered, satisfaction brightening his eyes at having finally the power to oppose the other man.

"You are courting war." The messenger growled.  
Achilles rose from the throne and leant in close. "So I am."

They stared at each other for another few moments before the messenger finally turned and left in anger, his companion trailing behind.

Achilles and Patroclus traded serious looks.

"I'll fetch Eudorus," the younger volunteered and Achilles nodded. The Myrmidon king went back to the lunch room where Hector and Paris had waited for him. Anyone else than Achilles would probably not have been able to stomach food now but the warrior found that he was ravenous.

"What did Agamemnon say?" Hector asked.  
"He demanded a token that I called him my king. I refused."  
Paris started and stopped chewing his bread in alarm. Swallowing, he asked with some trepidation: "Will there be war?"

While Paris liked Agamemnon no better than Achilles, he had seen the army Agamemnon was capable of assembling. Another war was not what he wished to witness.

Achilles studied him over his wine cup. "Maybe," he finally answered.

"More like 'probably'," Hector disagreed with a snort and an angry slap to the tabletop.

"I refuse to be that man's thrall," Achilles simply answered. "And besides, it does not seem plausible to me: when did Agamemnon send the messengers and to whom?"

The two Trojans paused. Paris' thoughts raced. "It's been seventeen days since your father's death. You only arrived three days ago."

"A messenger on horseback takes at least seven days from Mycenae to Phthia," Achilles put in.

"Which means that at the time Agamemnon sent the messengers, you were still in Messenia, and he knew that." Hector's brows were drawn together in a dark frown. "Yet he did not send the messengers to you."

"And Menelaus wasn't in Sparta either. He was with his brother," Paris remembered.

"Quite possible that Agamemnon called Menelaus to him to make plans," Achilles added.

"So Agamemnon becomes aware of rumors regarding Peleus' death. But instead of sending a message to Messenia, he has his brother called. Maybe they hoped to support the rebellion, thus getting rid of you," Hector theorized. "In any case, they sent messengers demanding the new king's obedience. But the messengers could not have been expecting you to be on that throne."

"That's what I thought," Achilles nodded. "Even if Agamemnon did not initiate the rebellion, he definitely supported it."

"Now what?" Paris asked.

"We wait."

At that moment Patroclus returned with Eudorus in tow. Achilles informed him briefly of the messengers.

"This is our chance to break Agamemnon's power! We do not know if he will come but we will not be unprepared. Send messengers to those cities we may get on our side, inform our spies to keep their eyes and ears open for any moves on Mycenae's or Sparta's part. If it comes to a war, I will not lose," turning his eyes back to the table and Paris in particular, he finished, "for there is too much at stake."

Eudorus bowed gravely and left.

"You spoke of sending messengers to your allies. There is one of them sitting right here and you need not ask me," Hector said to Achilles. "Never again will Troy pay any price to avoid fighting Agamemnon. I will order my men to prepare the ships so we may leave tomorrow at the latest. My king and Father will give you support, this I can promise."

"And Troy has my thanks," Achilles answered and the men clasped arms in pledge.

"You will leave so soon then?" Paris questioned. But, knowing the answer already, he sighed. "You are right of course. There is no other way."

All of a sudden the young man felt overwhelmed. He made to hasten away then, but was stopped by both brother and husband, one giving him a kiss on the forehead, the other on the lips and murmuring reassuring words to him.

"Will you not spend my last day with me?" Hector inquired.

And of course Paris could not deny him.

While Achilles returned to his council to inform them of the new developments, Eudorus and Patroclus prepared the Myrmidon army as Hector and Paris informed their own countrymen. Lastly the Myrmidon king ordered a feast of farewell prepared for his brother-in-law.

So soon after the funeral feast, the kitchen staff groaned at the new task. Hunters had to be sent out quickly and kitchen-boys ordered to gather what wine they could. Inevitably, the dinner was smaller than the feast the previous day, but neither Paris nor Hector minded: this way they could focus on each other once more before separating.

Night fell and they went to bed early as the Trojans were to leave shortly after dawn. Paris had difficulty sleeping and while Achilles slept like the dead, his consort remained awake almost the entire night, worrying about his future and that of his family.

Finally, the sun rose and with it the palace's household. The Trojans marched out the city to the docks where their ship awaited, Hector leading them with Paris on his arm and Achilles on his other side.

"Where should I ready our army?" Hector inquired.

"Ready them in Troy. We will give Agamemnon time to answer and change his mind. Should he declare war after all, I will let you know. In such a case, I will inform you about our plans and where your army would be most useful," Achilles told him.

"So you still have hope he may give in?"

Achilles shrugged. "Agamemnon should know better. But he is not always the most clear-sighted. Were Nestor still alive, he would certainly council against it. Odysseus and Diomedes would also do so, but if war is unavoidable, I cannot be sure on which side they would fight. They might try to remain neutral, though it is doubtful whether Agamemnon will accept this. I need not tell you whose side Menelaus would take. Messenia is still too weak to be of any threat but Ajax might become a problem: not only is he the most skilled warrior besides myself, but he is our neighbor in the south. His closeness may cause trouble. But let us not get ahead of ourselves, but await news from Agamemnon and the other Achaean cities."

They had arrived at the ship. The skies were cloudless, promising a swift and comfortable voyage home.

Achilles and Hector clasped arms.

"Send messengers as soon as you can," the Trojan crown-prince said. "And take good care of my brother."

"Naturally."

Next Hector pulled Paris into his arms, squeezing him to his broad chest.

"Take care." He pressed a kiss to his brother's forehead.

"You too," Paris answered.

Hector was the last to board the vessel. They set sail and Paris waved to them one last time before the Trojans were too far away to make out. Together with Achilles, he walked back to the palace.

* * *

_I'm very sorry for the huge delay.__ Thanks to all of my faithful reviewers, anonymous and otherwise. As the next chapter is already complete, I don't think it will take as long as this one._

_The story has also a new twist. Here comes the customary **teaser **for **Chapter 18 "Preparations":**_

_"His wife is causing trouble."_

_"Why … why are you here?" Paris stuttered. - "You called me," he simply responded._

_"What have you done to him?" - "**I** did nothing. The question is what did **you** do to him?"_

* * *

**_Thank you for reading. Comments are always appreciated._**


	18. Preparations

_Beta: Litrouke_

**Chapter 18: Preparations**

Paris yawned and rubbed his eyes tiredly in an attempt to wake himself up.

"Maybe you should take a nap," Achilles suggested, his keen eyes on his consort while picking apart the fish on his plate with knife and fingers. "You're so tired these days."

"Actually I just got up. If I wanted to, I could sleep the whole day away, but where is the use in that?"

"Maybe it's the child," Patroclus pointed out, who was no less tired but his sole excuse was overindulgence the night before. He sat hunched over in his chair, one hand lying idly on his lap while trying to eat one-handed with the other. Paris didn't agree but only shrugged mutely.

Despite the many tasks Achilles had taken on as king, he, Paris and Patroclus, by unspoken agreement, always tried to eat together. Achilles, his cousin, and Eudorus were deeply involved in preparing Phthia for a potential war. At the same time, the Myrmidon king was planning the construction of the new temple for Aphrodite. Thus it happened quite frequently that apart from lunch and dinner, Paris did not see Achilles all day. He woke up after the Myrmidon had arisen and went to bed long before his husband even left the council chamber.

Patroclus' knife finally slipped and a few peas of his plate scattered across the table. Achilles gave him an annoyed look over the rim of his wine cup, causing his cousin to quickly collect his wayward vegetables and lift his second hand from beneath the table to eat properly. Paris wondered at how his husband's cousin could be so childish one moment and an aspiring warrior the next.

"Have you had any news from Odysseus?" Paris asked Achilles, anxious to know if the man he had started considering a friend was prepared to fight with Phthia or against it.

But Achilles shook his head. "Not directly. I received a message from King Diomedes. He wrote that he was in counsel with Agamemnon, trying to convince him to keep the peace. He hasn't seen Odysseus nor has he heard if he arrived in Ithaca."

Paris stopped in the middle of lifting another piece of mutton to his mouth. "How can that be? He meant to go see King Diomedes and then return home. He should have arrived in Argos long before we did in Phthia!"

"I know. Who knows what delayed him. It may have been bad weather or maybe he changed plans, went to Ithaca, and Diomedes didn't know yet when he sent the message."

"I don't believe that," Paris argued. "Isn't there anything we can do? He has to be somewhere! Maybe he needs help."

"Odysseus in need of help? I have found that there are very few situations he cannot find his way out of. Anyhow, we have enough trouble here without starting a search for Odysseus."

Paris saw the truth in this but still looked unhappy. Finally, Achilles sighed in defeat.

"Very well. As soon as Agamemnon has been taken care of, I'll send a few men to Ithaca to see what the old fox is up to."

His husband's expression immediately lit up. "Thank you." Clearly relieved and smiling, Paris pecked Achilles on the cheek. The warrior king suffered it with a small grumble, somewhat displeased at how easily Paris could manipulate him.

Wishing to change the subject, Achilles commented to Paris:

"The architects have finally found a suitable place for Aphrodite's temple. Why don't you think about what you would like to have in the temple? After all, it is supposed to be yours. The architects want to meet with me tonight, so I won't have time for dinner. It's going to be a long day again."

Paris hesitated a moment before offering: "Maybe I could go in your stead. As you said, the temple is mostly for my use and surely you have enough to do to prepare Phthia for war."

Achilles studied him for a time. "Are you sure? It's not a major task, but I don't want you to be overwhelmed by the architects. You may need to assert yourself."

"Why don't I accompany him? I can support him with the architects and you can spare me for a day. Eudorus does most of the work anyway," Patroclus suggested.

Achilles nodded in agreement. "A good idea. What do you say, Paris?"

"I agree. It will make me feel better to have him with me."

"And to keep you from falling asleep," Patroclus laughed, drawing chuckles from Achilles and Paris.

"Let's hope it won't get that far," the Trojan answered.

A knock on the door caused Achilles to sigh.

"I have to go." Rising, he patted Patroclus on the shoulder and gave Paris a quick kiss on the mouth.

Eudorus was waiting for him outside the dining room. The war council Achilles had called was headed by the other man and every day he collected the messages they received from various parts of the Aegean.

"Any news?" Achilles asked him.

"We have received messages from the king of Euboea. He promised us his support."

"That's good to hear. His ships will be of great use to us. What else?"

"Some of the cities in the west have sent messengers and indicated they would fight against Agamemnon. Alone they don't stand a chance but together they may be capable of rising a small army, and they would rather see Agamemnon removed from their doorstep than wait for him to usurp their thrones. As far as concerns the regions north of Mycenae, like Boeotia and Phocis, they are still undecided. They're still weighing the risks but with Euboea on our side, I'm certain they will turn to us rather than Agamemnon."

"What about Ajax?"

Eudorus shook his head. "No news from him directly. Rumor says he is still sore about what happened between the two of you in Messenia. It could go either way with him."

"We can't help that. There is nothing I would offer him merely to get him on my side. Any word from our spies?"

The dark-haired commander nodded gravely. "King Agamemnon and his brother are assembling their armies. But according to one source there is some dispute in Mycenae about Agamemnon's war plans: after Troy and Messenia, motivation is low to get into another war. He has personal difficulties, too." A smug smirk crossed Eudorus' face. "His wife is causing trouble."

Achilles snorted and shook his head. Automatically his thoughts wandered to Paris but instantly decided that there was no comparing his loving consort to Agamemnon's aloof wife. He had met her only once and her iciness had put him off. But then again, her hatred for her husband was well known.

"Anything else I need to know?" Achilles inquired.

Eudorus shook his head. "No, my lord."

"Then let us start planning the provisions."

In the meantime, Paris and Patroclus finished their lunch. They talked some more about the temple. Like Paris, Patroclus hadn't seen the site and as Achilles had not given them any information, they would be in for a surprise once they met the architects.

"I'll send a messenger to the planners to meet us earlier than Achilles had arranged. This way we will hopefully have time for dinner," Patroclus said. "Why don't we go do some sword training before the meeting?"

While Achilles had promised to teach Paris how to use a sword, there hadn't been any time to do so yet.

"The people in Sparta believe that sports are good for a pregnant woman as long as she can comfortably do it. And you are not even showing. As long as we go slow and don't overdo it, I do not think it will endanger your baby," Patroclus added. The tiredness Patroclus had exhibited during lunch was gone as if it had never been there and he looked eager to teach the younger man.

"I would like that," Paris agreed.

Patroclus jumped off his seat, and briefly left the hall with brisk steps to stop a servant and give him the message.

After his return, they went to the gymnasium together. Being a warlike people the training grounds were of great importance in Phthia. Any man wealthy enough would equip his house with a gymnasium or, if they did not have the necessary means or enough space, its smaller companion, the palestrae.

Needless to say, the royal palace of Phthia had the largest and best equipped training grounds in eastern Greece. It was not only used by the royal family but also the palace guards and the army. As the last two groups generally needed more room and preferred spending their time outside, they used the open areas outside. A low building next to the area served as a bathhouse for the warriors.

To avoid becoming a spectacle, Patroclus led Paris to one of smaller training yard set apart from the main grounds. A row of cypresses and oleander bushes shielded it from view. The area was surrounded by columns which supported the roof and every fourth column was accompanied by a marble statue of a deity like Heracles or Hermes, or an unnamed athlete. Achilles cared little for such superfluous art but his father Peleus had paid more attention to details. A layer of sand covered the floor, reducing the risk of serious injuries when falling.

Patroclus had been trained by Achilles personally since he was old enough to hold a sword. Of course the older warrior still found faults in his technique and, to Patroclus' great annoyance, he still hadn't seen any battlefield up close or been able to test his skills in combat. When Aischylos' men had attacked him, they were in the majority and Patroclus had been quickly overwhelmed. Another matter he was still sore about.

But Paris proved easy to train. As not to tax each other, they worked slowly. Patroclus taught Paris some attacks and corrected his stance.

"You need to bend your knees more. It makes your stance much more secure. And try not to stretch your arm out completely when attacking."

Paris found it incredibly hard to pay attention to so many things: his sword, his legs, his arms…

"Don't hunch your back, Paris. Shoulders down, back straight."

…and now his back, too. He threw Patroclus an exasperated look. Achilles' cousin only chuckled.

"I know it's hard in the beginning. But one day you won't have to hear these things anymore because you will know them."

Paris only muttered, "Let's hope I see that day."

They finished soon after and went to the baths together.

The planners Achilles had summoned to build the temple devoted to Aphrodite consisted of four men: the architect Euthymios was an older man with a snow-white short beard, who, despite his age, was still quite spirited. He was assisted by a younger man in his early twenties called Kallias. The long-haired brunette was quieter but had a beautiful smile which he showed as often as his master.

Pamphilos was a sculptor and seemed to feel greatly inspired by Paris – that at least was Patroclus' suggestion as to why the fair-haired man's gaze so often lingered on the Trojan's face. Achilles' cousin judged it a harmless quirk of an artist. And finally there was Metrophanes, a man with a curious scar on the arm from the wrist to the crook of his arm, a deep voice and dark hair. He was tasked with the mural paintings inside the temple.

Euthymios and Kallias were the only ones who had been at the site of the temple before so they led the way. The site was inland to the north of the palace and Paris remembered having seen it before: it was a former temple of Ares, abandoned some years ago in favor of a larger building.

"Oh, I remember that one," Patroclus explained. "When I was a child I once swore to go out and do something greater than Heracles. I got this far before I turned back," Patroclus laughed, remembering his youthful folly. Paris snickered. "How old were you?"

"Around ten or so."

The old temple was not far from the palace, only a little further than it was to the coast, and Paris liked it instantly once they entered. He did not mind in the least that it was smaller than the temples in Troy. There were few true worshippers of Aphrodite in Phthia and it was mainly for his uses anyway.

The painter Metrophanes studied the walls with a furrowed brow. They had been painted before and the murals were only a little faded in places.

"Is it possible to remove them? Or paint over them?" Paris asked, having observed the man.

Metrophanes glance at him over his shoulder. "A little bit of both, maybe," he said, turning back to the wall for a closer look at the workmanship. With the nail of his thumb he scratched at some carnelian paint, then nodded with a thoughtful expression. "I'll find a way."

Paris gifted him with a grateful smile. Pamphilos was already speaking with Euthymios about the best places for his statues. Aphrodite he wanted to depict, in various poses and dresses and Patroclus, who stood with them, listened to him with some amusement before pointing out that the sculptor should speak with Paris about the statues first before making any plans. Flustered, the sculptor quickly agreed.

Kallias, meanwhile, was thinking further ahead: "Prince-consort Paris will need priests and acolytes to take care of the temple. And the altar has to go completely, we will need a new one. "

Paris glanced at it and had to agree. The typical war motives of Ares certainly wouldn't do for the goddess of love. A brighter spot on the floor against the wall marked the place where something large had stood. Paris assumed it was a large statue of Ares which had been removed to his new temple once completed. When Pamphilos approached him about new sculptures Paris had to dampen his enthusiasm: there simply wasn't enough space for his plans. And then Metrophanes cut in because putting sculptures in front of the best of his murals was simply unthinkable.

"Stop!" Paris called, forcing the planners to cease their arguments. "Let's discuss this calmly," he suggested, though his tone made it clear that it was not in fact a suggestion, but an order. He walked up the two stairs leading to the old altar and waved for everyone to join him. "Euthymius first," he announced. The older man smiled at him with approval in his eyes.

Paris headed the meeting in this way and had no further need to put anyone in his place. Euthymius informed him of the repairs which had to be carried out. They were of minor nature as the stone building would easily last another decade or two. The architect was more concerned with the roof. Metrophanes and Pamphilos suggested their ideas of which Paris chose what he liked best.

It was evening, but the sun still shone when they were finally finished. Patroclus and Paris looked forward to dinner but the Trojan felt that there was one thing still missing. He sent Patroclus ahead back to the palace, claiming that he wanted to explore the temple some more. The Hellene hesitated to leave his cousin's husband until Paris pointed out that the area was safe and the palace near enough.

Finally alone, Paris walked in a circle through the temple, first along the wall, then in a spiral ever closer until he arrived at the altar, the central point. His belief was that a part of a god's spirit resided in every one of their temples. His encounter with Ares and Aphrodite had only enforced that belief. And while for people like Euthymius, Metrophanes and Pamphilos the matter of turning a temple of one god into the temple of another was like converting a dining room into a reception hall, Paris wanted to be sure that Ares had really given up this place in favor of the larger temple. One did not tell the gods to do something, but asked them and Paris had to prepare himself in case Ares decided to visit him again as he had in Sparta.

Gathering his thoughts, he tried to reach out with his mind. 'Ares,' he thought, 'Ares, great God of War, hear me.'

Elsewhere, on Olympus, Ares reclined sleepily on a divan in his dining hall. The taste of ambrosia was still fresh on his tongue, mingling pleasantly with the nectar he had drunk. The cup was empty now and after this thoroughly satisfying meal Ares felt too content to move. His eyes were half-lidded, the god near asleep when he felt the buzz, which ever resided in a god's mind, rise to a more pronounced level. Tendrils of power reached for him, weak, but too much like his own for him to ignore. They did not quite grasp for him as immortals who spoke to each other in their minds did. It was only a vague extension of power, aimed at his general direction.

Deciding to forego sleep, Ares listened instead and soon realized that it was a prayer. Yet, if it were a common prayer it would not have been audible beyond a voice within the mass of prayers always present in the back of his mind. A god could choose to listen to a prayer directed at him; if they chose not to, the prayers were only a distant hum, louder when many people prayed, quieter when only a few did so.

And what was even more puzzling: the power felt faintly like his own. There was only one way to find out who caused it. Closing his eyes to gather his concentration and divine powers, he followed the voice to its origins.

Even while still in the process of appearing at the source of the prayer he felt a warm hand on his chest. Opening his eyes once fully solid, he met the shocked brown gaze of Paris of Troy.

The prince-consort had, like Ares, closed his eyes in concentration while directing his prayer at Ares. He had felt a tingling in the air, movement beneath his hand which he had laid on the War God's altar and on opening his eyes he realized to his great shock that Ares himself now lay on the altar, with Paris' palm resting flat on his breast.

Aghast, Paris physically pulled back. He meant to step back from the altar but Ares, more out of reflex than intent, caught him by the wrist and restrained him.

"Why … why are you here?" Paris stuttered, standing tense like a rabbit ensnared by an eagle's gaze.

"You called me," Ares simply responded, sitting up and shifting his legs off the altar. He refrained from standing just yet and loosened his grip on Paris' hand.

The Trojan retrieved his hand, warm and tingling from the God of War's heated skin and retreated a step. "I apologize. I did not mean to fetch you," he said, eyes lowering to avoid the god's fierce gaze.

"Yet you did. Now tell me, why am I here?" Ares demanded.

Paris blushed and gathered strength, then raised his head.

"I meant to ask you if you would be willing to leave this temple? I would like to remodel it to suit Aphrodite."

Ares laughed. "Aphrodite?" he questioned, his thoughts immediately turning to the Goddess' curves. Imagining her residing in an old temple of his was almost like thinking of her in his bed. He liked the analogy and grinned. "You have my permission," he answered, fixing such an intense eye on Paris that the Trojan knew the God of War's thoughts had little to do with what the Trojan intended.

"But now," Ares began, lowering himself off the altar, "I want to know you."

Paris' eyes widened, once more backing away but this time, too, the god proved faster. With lightning speed Ares clasped his arm and pulled him against his body. With his unoccupied hand he gripped Paris' neck, forcing his head up to meet his eyes and closed the distance. The prince-consort expected the worst but Ares only brought their foreheads together, never closing his eyes.

What came next Paris would likely never know. Afterwards he would be able to guess what Ares had done but while it happened, the only thing he was aware of was the god's dark eyes. Somewhere deep within them he thought he could discern licking flames, or it might have been rivulets of blood. When Ares released him, he felt faint, the world turned dark and he was unable to tell up from down.

He crumbled and was only just aware of it when he was caught in strong arms an instant before the impact. He was lifted high and laid down on a stone slab. For how long he lay unconscious he could not tell. He could swear it was only a short time before he woke to an empty and dark temple, with his husband calling for him from outside.

"Achilles," he cried out faintly. The Myrmidon king appeared in the doorway. On seeing his husband lying with a pale face upon Ares' altar and lifting a shaking hand, he rushed to him.

"Paris, what happened?" he inquired in great worry. Not even waiting for an answer, Achilles continued, distress turning to anger. "I knew Patroclus shouldn't have left you alone! I'll have him clean the palace for a month for this!" Gently he lifted Paris into his arms.

His husband only chuckled weakly at the threat. "No, Achilles, it's not his fault. I sent him away because I needed to do this." He wrapped an arm around his husband's neck and rested his weary head against the warrior king's shoulder. "Now take me home."

* * *

Despite the strange feeling of pride, he stormed through Olympus with mostly outrage in his mind. Throwing open the doors to Aphrodite's halls, he did not even let Hephaestus' possible presence slow him. But the other god was not present. He found Aphrodite in front of her mirror where her son Hermaphroditos was brushing her hair.

"Out," Ares ordered him shortly. The young demigod looked unimpressed and his bright eyes sought his mother's confirmation first, which she gave with a nod. With his usual elegant bearing and nary a glance at the God of War, he left the room and shut the door with a small click.

"What is it now, Ares?" Aphrodite demanded, irritated that the other god had disturbed her beauty session.

"I've been to see Paris," he announced.

Aphrodite abruptly stood and turned to him with an expression of fury. "What have you done to him?"

"I did nothing. The question is what did you do to him? Or better yet, what did you use my power for?" he ended shouting.

The Goddess of Love needed a moment to process his accusation. Then she slumped back onto her seat, feeling deflated.

"I didn't think you would find out," she finally admitted.

Ares snorted with disdain. "And that makes it better?"

A god's power was his very essence. Rarely did they gift some of it to mortals dear to them, giving the human superior qualities. Zeus had done it for Heracles. Others did it for their lovers or children. Once the human died the power returned to the giver. Ares had not heard of anyone stealing another god's power. It went without saying that a god's essence was sacred, even for other gods.

Aphrodite had lowered her face into her hands. But Ares' patience was at an end. He grasped her by the shoulders and forced her to look up.

"Why did you do it?" Frowning in confusion he added, "And how?"

The goddess sighed. "I needed more power than I had on my own to give Paris the gift of fertility. I considered asking Apollo but I wasn't certain I would have his support because of the prophecy regarding Troy's destruction. Besides, at the time Apollo was too involved in one of his affairs. There was Dionysus of course, but he does not have much to give. You were fresh back from a great war, full of power and you had supporters aplenty. We shared a bed back then, remember? It was five years ago."

Ares had to think about it before he remembered the occasion she was referring to. He nodded. Aphrodite continued:

"I waited until you were at your weakest-" she needn't say which moment that had been. Ares could guess it well enough. "I didn't think you would ever meet Paris personally and if you ever heard of him, you wouldn't care. I didn't see that one day Paris would marry Achilles. I took your power into me and then gave it to Paris together with some of my own and Dionysus'."

Ares was stunned by the account. He felt betrayed by Aphrodite. Never would he have suspected some of his own power in Paris of all people. They had fought in Sparta and he had noticed nothing. Most likely it was due to the fact that some of his essence was always present in his own temples and he had not been able to discern between his power in the temple and in Paris. Knowing that the bond between Achilles and Paris had only been possible with the help of his power and that now a child grew of this gift, caused a turmoil of feelings in him.

"What are you going to do now?" Aphrodite asked, interrupting his thoughts. Ares stared at her.

"I don't know yet." Then he turned on his heel and left.

* * *

_Thank you to all the reviewers of the last chapter, especially those I haven't been able to thank via mail like Kristal, M and darkshadowarchfiend_, _and the patience of my readers who are forced to wait for my chapters and still come back to read them. I can't give an ETA for the next chapter, and as the dialogue in Chapter 19 would reveal either too much or too little, here an old-fashioned...  
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**Teaser**_: _Chapter 19 "Immoral Solutions"

In which one problem is resolved and another takes on Olympian dimensions. A goat figures prominently and even takes charge while down on earth we seek the one potion to end all--- Question: How bad must things be when Ares shows up on your doorstep with a drink? And is anyone willing to divulge its recipe?

_Was that too much? Or too little? I might just post something else on my profile ... once the chapter is finished and with my beta. Until then_

**Thank you for reading and please leave a review.**_  
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	19. Immoral Solutions

_B__eta: Litrouke. My thanks goes to everyone still reading this for their patience._

* * *

**Chapter 19: Immoral Solutions**

A couple of weeks after the incident in the temple, news came from Mycenae. Paris was late in breaking his fast when Achilles threw open the doors to their rooms and shouted:

"Agamemnon is dead!" Then he took his husband into a fierce embrace in elation.

"How?" Paris was astounded. Achilles laughed and pressed kisses to his consort's face before answering:

"His wife. Clytemnestra finally had enough; she and her lover killed him."

Paris' eyes widened. He was more horrified that Agamemnon's wife had murdered him than glad that the Mycenaean king was dead. But in the end, relief outweighed any pity he may have had.

Freed of his duties of preparing Phthia for war, Achilles thought to spend his time with better things, like enticing his husband to certain conjugal activities.

"What about the war?" Paris exclaimed, squirming out from beneath Achilles' lips and causing the warrior to sigh.

"Nothing is certain yet. But Clytemnestra will have better things on her mind than starting a war and besides, Agamemnon was the central figure who held the Greek alliance together. Menelaus cannot command the other cities and states like his brother did and Sparta alone can hardly win the war." Spreading kisses from Paris' shoulder up to his face, he ended: "We don't have confirmation yet, but it is very likely over."

He gave Paris no opportunity to respond and kissed him passionately, tongue exploring the Trojan's mouth. Breaking off only to breathe, Achilles murmured into his ear: "Let me have you. I want you." His hands were already roving over Paris' skin. His consort gave in and Achilles had the opportunity to discover new sensitive spots caused by the slow change in Paris' body.

* * *

Olympus abounded with gossip. First the God of War had locked himself in his halls, allowing none to enter. Aphrodite came time and again, knocking on the heavy iron doors to Ares' home, calling desperately for him to answer her. She apologized at least a dozen times in front of his door but no answer came. Worn down, she would leave after a while only to return later with no more success.

Then Apollo noticed that one of his best mirrors, a device to watch mortals on earth, was missing. Swiftly he came to the conclusion that Ares had to be the thief, and so the golden god stormed to Ares' halls. On finding the doors still locked, he ranted and raved in front of them with no effect. He even threatened Ares' manhood but there was no reaction. Fuming, Apollo stomped off.

The entry remained locked and for several days Olympus was held enthralled by rumors of what Ares could possibly be doing alone with the mirror in his rooms and why Aphrodite trudged every day to his door to call for him and apologize, even going so far as to neglect her daily beauty session.

With no improvement in sight, the mother goddess Hera finally saw herself forced to step in. She commanded her son's ban to lift for her and achieved entrance.

She had expected his rooms in shambles, but in fact the opposite was the case. Everything was neat and quiet, not a thing out of place as far as she could see. Fires and torches sent flickering light through the sitting room. Her son's swords, shields and other weaponry hung neatly on the wall. The crack which Ares had put on a column some months ago had been repaired, all drinking vessels, and bowls of fruit were intact. Not even the cushions on the divans and chairs had been moved. Disturbed by the silence – an unusual thing for her hot-blooded son – she called out: "Ares?"

Her voice trembled. Mentally she called herself a fool. With caution she crossed the room and quietly opened the door to the bedroom. There on his large bed was the God of War, unmoving and showing no reaction to her entrance. He sat with his side to her, and in front of him she could discern a basin of marble with a gold rim cradled between his legs – Apollo's missing mirror, into which the god's gaze was directed without pause.

Slowly she approached him and chanced a look into the mirror. In it a young man was attending to his evening toilette, washing himself with a warm cloth which he rubbed over bare skin. She instantly recognized him as the prince-consort of Phthia, Paris, Aphrodite's favorite, whose child she was to help deliver.

Hera was distracted by Ares reaching out hesitantly, touching the mirror's water as if seeking to touch the mortal. But the mirror was no portal. The water rippled at his touch but nothing happened and Paris never knew about it.

"Ares, my son," Hera addressed him in a soft voice as not to startle Ares. The God of War lifted his face reluctantly. His eyes revealed how uncommonly absentminded he was.

"Mother," he said. "I did not hear you come in."

Hera smiled gently. "I noticed." She was unsure on how to deal with this sedate Ares but felt a calm approach was the best.

"Have you seen him?" he pointed at the youth in the mirror who had proceeded to dressing himself. "I made him."

Hera stared at him uncomprehendingly. Ares had turned back to watching the mirror but answered her unvoiced question anyway.

"Aphrodite used my essence."

The goddess' eyes widened in shock. Who knew one mortal could cause so much strife amongst the Olympians?

"I understand it better now," Ares continued in a low voice. "I was drawn to him. I watched him when he became Achilles' consort. I watched him when he was in Mykonos and trained under Odysseus. When he visited my temple in Sparta, I could not simply watch anymore. And maybe I knew instinctively that it was him when he called me in Phthia. There is a part of me in him, and I am not certain what I should do."

Studying her son's bed sheets, Hera desperately grasped for a solution. She was now in a dilemma: as Ares' mother and the Queen of the Olympians, she should demand the return of his power. On the other hand, Aphrodite had asked her to supervise Paris' pregnancy and, in particular, the birth of the child.

Still not lifting her head, she revealed: "If you take your power back at this stage, he will lose the child and the gift of fertility." Slowly she looked up to catch Ares' gaze which had quickly gone from the basin to her at the revelation. "Is that what you want, my son? You have supported Achilles for so long, helping him in his actions. The child is his, his heir even. Do you wish to take that from him? It is unlikely that he would forgive you."

Ares turned back to the basin in thought. Paris wore nightwear now and moved around his bedroom to extinguish an oil lamp. Achilles wasn't there yet but would arrive soon.

"You are right," he admitted thoughtfully.

"Wait until the child is born. Then we will see what can be done about retrieving your power."

Ares sat unmoving. Finally he nodded slowly and Hera could not quite be certain if he was reluctant or merely lost in thought. She checked a sigh of relief. Everything would go back to normal now, even if the issue had only been postponed and not resolved.

As she left Ares' apartments, Hera almost walked right into her husband. She could not prevent a small, bitter twist of her lips at the fact that Zeus had taken this much time until he finally deigned to look in on what had Olympus in such an uproar. Most likely Zeus had been on earth wooing some mortal woman or boy. Sometimes Hera understood why her brothers Hades and Poseidon came so rarely to visit. Olympus had none of the tranquility of either the underworld or the sea, and her husband often did not step in to solve conflicts when he should.

Her husband, either ignoring or unaware of her straying thoughts, smiled charmingly. Embracing her and kissing her on both cheeks, he said: "Hera, my love, I have just arrived to see my son. They say that he is troubled."

The King of the Gods' hands came to rest on Hera's hips, gently stroking her skin through the cloth of her dress. Hera smiled at him.

"You need not worry, husband. Ares is well now; I have already spoken to him."

She took his hands in hers. Standing together like this, she could almost pretend that they were still young and Zeus was courting her.

"Maybe I should see him anyway," Zeus suggested. "Some things are better talked about among men."

Hera disagreed. Zeus had not bothered to come before, so he needn't learn about the argument between Aphrodite and Ares now.

"Ares is fine, love. He merely needs some time to think about things and that is better done alone. Come, why don't we go to our rooms and you tell me what you have been up to?"

She tugged at Zeus' hands even while her smile turned fake. She had no wish to listen to his stories of his deeds on earth. They were all lies anyway. Of course Zeus was aware that she knew this. But the godly father picked his battles carefully and decided that now was a time to give in. Maybe he would see Ares later. For now, he would follow his wife and regale her with tales to which she would listen, smile, and nod while both knew that it was all an act. Sometimes, Zeus thought, mortals had the better lot.

* * *

On earth, time passed. Troy had received the news of Agamemnon's death before the messenger from Phthia arrived. Shortly after this, it was revealed that Clytemnestra would take the throne in place of her and Agamemnon's son Orestes, who was not considered old enough. Everyone in Greece knew that it was only in name, as the one pulling the strings in the background was in fact her lover. It was generally understood that once Orestes was old enough to accede to the throne, more bloodshed would follow, but that was years off.

Menelaus raged about his brother's death, but finding himself alone and without close allies – or powerful allies anyway – he did not dare to take revenge himself, placing faith in his nephew instead. In the meantime, he comforted himself with wine and women.

Paris was relieved to know he did not have to experience another war. He, along with Patroclus, continued overseeing the temple's renovation. Soon, however, Paris was forced to delegate many tasks to Achilles' cousin as his pregnancy advanced, which went quicker than he had thought.

Two months after conception, the usual afflictions suffered by most pregnant women assailed him, though they seemed to be much worse in his case. He was violently sick not only in the mornings but any time of the day, especially when smells invaded his nose. This included almost all foodstuffs, causing him to eat alarmingly little and spend entire days in bed. In the beginning, he still spent some time outside in either Patroclus' or his husband's company. He would rest on the grass with the sun warming him, and the only other beings to share his space were some wild goats.

Eventually, however, he did not have the strength anymore to go outside. Achilles worried endlessly. No help seemed in sight and not even the gifts sent by aspiring allies, who visited Phthia almost daily from all over the Aegean and brought local specialties, were of any help. Paris started praying for divine help but, curiously enough, there was no answer from his otherwise so receptive patrons.

* * *

Zeus was curious to find out what had divided Ares and Aphrodite. As he thought back on previous arguments he could only think of Troy as the reason, but Ares had turned away from the city right after the war. Then Zeus remembered Paris, the prince who was ransomed to Greece to achieve peace, the prince to whom Aphrodite had given the gift of fertility.

The king of the gods had never visited the young mortal. Now seemed like a good time. At first, he took the form of a shepherd on Phthia. It was easy to find the prince, but harder to approach: there was always a chaperone with him, and a shepherd would have no good reason to speak to the prince-consort either outside or inside the palace. When Paris made it a habit to lie outside in the grass, the god had another idea.

He had taken an animal's shape before. It was not at all hard to take on the shape of a goat. The animal was glorious to behold, with a white, long coat which was velvety to the touch, intelligent grey eyes and a pair of curled horns. This time the god had more success: Patroclus, who watched over Paris, only smiled on seeing the animal and petted its back. Paris, dozing in the sun, smiled tiredly at the goat and beckoned it with an apple.

As Zeus approached, he felt the mortal's aura. He touched the velvety nose to Paris' hand and startled at the power. Searching more closely, Zeus almost thought that the Trojan might be a son of Aphrodite and Ares. But then he found the sparing traces of Dionysus as well, and the young man in front of him was still undeniably mortal. Only blessed with power – and pregnant.

Deciding that he would need to think about this more closely, Zeus retreated with the apple between his teeth and, once out of sight of the mortals, returned to his own shape and his room on Olympus.

Mentally he sent a quick order to Ares to come. It was time the mystery was revealed. The God of War arrived more quickly than Zeus had thought, and the godly father immediately perceived his son's nervousness. There was nothing his children could hide from him.

Zeus lowered himself into his chair and with a gesture bid Ares to do the same. Ares, unable to stand his father's silence and examining look, began: "May I ask why you called me, father?"

After another moment's pause, the other god responded: "I heard about your dispute with Aphrodite which, I am told, has in the meantime been resolved."

Ares nodded. "That's true."

"This dispute would not have anything to do with Paris, prince-consort of Achilles of Phthia, would it?" His gaze seemingly turned to study the knuckles on his right hand but through his eyelashes Zeus studied his son closely.

The God of War suppressed his surprise and struggled to find a response. "Why would you think that?"

Zeus' head rose and now his eyes almost burned through the younger god. "I have just returned from a visit to him. He carries your power."

Ares clenched his teeth but merely nodded once without commenting further.

Abruptly Zeus rose and walked past Ares to stand behind him. The younger god refused to turn around.

"I have to wonder then why you spoke against Troy's survival all those months ago when Athena accused Aphrodite of preventing fate's natural course," Zeus' voice came from behind him.

His son's fists clenched and Zeus' hand came up to rest on the younger god's shoulder. Ares was not fooled for a moment. He steeled himself against it but when Zeus entered his mind, his power was like a warm summer wind which could quickly turn into a storm and Ares' barriers proved too weak. The other god easily passed them by and took the information he wanted from his mind. Through this mental link, Ares instantly felt the spark of Zeus' surprise at his findings.

The Olympian had not even properly withdrawn when he bellowed both mentally and aloud for Aphrodite. Ares winced at the noise, slumping in his chair as Zeus left him.

The older god's brows had drawn together in anger and as he did not seem willing to offer Ares refreshments, the God of War stood up on shaky legs to pour himself some nectar into a cup which he depleted immediately, then poured a second cup.

Most likely all of Olympus had heard the call and when Aphrodite appeared she was clearly anxious.

"I am appalled," was the first thing Zeus said, emphasizing every word.

Aphrodite's eyes widened, her gaze turning to Ares who once more sat in his chair and immediately guessed the reason for Zeus' anger.

"Father," she began but was interrupted by Zeus, an extremely uncommon occurrence.

"Do not 'Father' me! I am shocked! If I had known this when Athena demanded a hearing after Troy, rest assured that you would not have gotten away with hardly a slap on the wrist! A fact which I shall rectify right away!"

"Please! My lord!" Aphrodite, alarmed at Zeus' threat, dropped to her knees. After everything she had done to execute her plans she could not allow anything to destroy them now, not even Zeus. And if she had to beg, she would.

Ares, too, jumped from his seat. For a moment he felt dizzy but he forced himself to remain steady.

"What punishment do you intend?" he demanded. Zeus' stern face turned to him.

"Exactly what Athena called for: withdraw the gift from Paris of Troy. Your power shall be returned to you."

A short, agonized wail escaped Aphrodite's throat, her hands covering her face. Even Zeus was taken aback by her outburst.

Ares closed the distance to his father, taking his hand to gain his attention.

"Father, I'm sorry but I cannot let you do that."

Zeus raised an incredulous eyebrow and the god of war hastened to correct himself.

"Please don't do that. Paris is married to Achilles, one of my greatest followers. If Paris loses the gift, he also loses the child and Achilles his heir. It was wrong of Aphrodite to take my essence without my consent, yes, but allow Paris to deliver this child at least before reclaiming all." Seeing the hesitation on Zeus' face, he added another "Please."

It was not often that Ares and Zeus had any father-son moments. But the king of the gods, after a long period of ignorance concerning his children, treasured those moments that came. He reached out with his other hand to the back of Ares' neck and kissed his son's forehead in a rare show of paternal affection.

"If this is truly your wish?" he said.

"It is," Ares affirmed.

"Then Paris may keep the gift of fertility." Zeus' eyes wandered to Aphrodite who dared to look up hopefully. "But _only_ until the birth of the child and no longer. As for you, Aphrodite," and he placed such emphasis on her name as if to stress the fact that he did not call her his daughter as he usually did, "you shall not escape again. But we need no trial for me to speak my sentence."

He took a step away from his son and appeared to grow in size until he became the very image of the feared king of the gods.

"You, goddess of love, are under house arrest. You are not permitted to leave your rooms on Olympus until I say otherwise. You are not to interfere in any life on earth or Mount Olympus. Your duties, if urgent, shall be delegated to others."

Aphrodite closed her eyes in regret, two tears escaping her eyelids to roll down her cheeks. On opening her eyes she gazed at Zeus pleadingly and asked softly:

"What about Paris? He needs my support during the pregnancy."

"Your son Hermaphroditos and Hera will take care of him. And now I do not want to hear the name 'Paris of Troy' for a long time. Go!"

Mutely Aphrodite rose from the floor and left the room, utterly devastated. And that was the reason why Paris received no answer to his prayers for so long.

Interestingly enough, this last divine trial forged other alliances: Apollo turned his attention to Paris in his sister's stead, and set aside his grievances against Ares to confer with the God of War, who kept his own eye on Phthia. The sun god even permitted him the use of his mirror, though only in his presence.

Even though they were gods, they were still male in form and pregnancy was not something they were familiar with. Thankfully, Hera supplied the information willingly.

Being the least suspect god in the matter which had been named the "Affair of Paris of Troy", Ares took the trip to Phthia, a small amphora of sustenance in his grasp and the call of Achilles audible in the back of his head.

The king of Phthia he found in his own temple, kneeling alone in front of the altar with his forehead bedded on his arms. The acolytes had been sent away while the king prayed for his husband's and child's wellbeing.

"I'm here," Ares announced, striding towards Achilles whose head jerked up. Rising to his feet, Achilles approached him, meeting him halfway.

"What is going on? Paris is near losing the child yet we hear nothing of those who call themselves his protectors! Not even my mother has come!" Achilles burst out, worry having made him short of temper. Dark circles under his eyes marked his lack of sleep during nights which he had spent watching over his fitfully sleeping husband and frantically searching for a solution.

"Thetis?" Ares asked, brows knotted in confusion for a moment before recalling: "She is back with Poseidon's people and they are all blind and deaf to both Olympus and the mortal world, save their master himself. I, Apollo, and Hera have decided to give you something which will help your consort but before I give it to you, there is something else you should know."

Achilles was tempted to demand this cure immediately, but Ares' serious look convinced him otherwise. He nodded shortly to indicate he was listening.

"The gift of fertility Aphrodite awarded Paris was in part generated with my own divine powers. She took some of my essence from me without my knowledge, making it a betrayal. We meant to resolve the situation amongst ourselves but Zeus intervened. Aphrodite has been forbidden from contacting Paris, and Zeus ordered the return of my power."

Ares paused for Achilles to take in what he had said before continuing: "Because he is already pregnant, he will keep the gift for now."

"For now?" Achilles echoed questioningly, voice filled with dread.

Ares nodded once. "He may not keep it beyond the birth of your child. After that he will become infertile, a true man once more."

Despairing, Achilles closed his eyes, hand reaching for his forehead. "That can't be it," he whispered. "He will be devastated! And what about the child? Even if it is born, there is no guarantee that it will survive!" Achilles gazed imploringly at Ares. Thoughtfully Ares studied the pattern of the floor for a moment before raising his head to meet the king's eyes.

"There is little I can do about Paris' fertility. I can give my power, but my skills lie elsewhere. I am not capable of creating fertility, nor is Apollo and I doubt that Aphrodite will be allowed to do so again. But there is one thing I can do: Once the child is born and my power returned to me, I will give it to your son, thus ensuring his survival. That is all I can promise at this point."

The Myrmidon swallowed but nodded in acceptance. "Yes," he whispered, "yes, that would lift our hearts somewhat at least." Raising his head, he added: "We shall be forever in your debt."

The corner of Ares' lips twitched with mild amusement as if wondering what a mortal could possibly do for a god. Stretching out the amphora in his hand he explained:

"This is nectar. Feed a little of it to your consort and his sickness shall be cured. Pour some of it on his food and he will be able to eat it all and quickly regain his strength. I have been told that he will be able to do without it once he reaches his fourth month for the sickness will disappear completely then."

Gratefully, Achilles took the small container. "Thank you," he answered at his most sincere. Ares acknowledged it with a nod, then retreated to the shadows of the temple to disappear.

Achilles did not hesitate for a single moment. With the amphora, which was barely larger than his hand, securely gripped, he sprinted out of the temple, past astonished priests and citizens up the hill to the palace. He burst through the front doors and ran through the hallways, slowing only once near his rooms.

Healers had suggested Paris change rooms during his pregnancy, especially because his illness robbed Achilles of his sleep. But his husband's pleadings, weak from another bout of vomiting, had enforced Achilles' intention of staying with him. Much had changed since Messenia and the Myrmidon king looked forward to celebrating his son's birth – if only Paris did not suffer so. He hoped the nectar would finally improve his husband's health. With his hand poised to push open the door to their sitting room, he deliberated whether he should tell Paris what Ares had relayed. But he decided that his consort had enough to worry about for the moment and he need not be weighed down by other issues as well.

Walking through the sitting room, he quietly opened the door to the bedroom, just in case Paris was asleep. The Trojan lay on his back, breathing heavily, his eyes closed but not asleep. Tearstains were still visibly wet on his cheeks.

A female servant entered the bedroom from outside, giving Achilles a telling look of sympathy for the ailing young man on the bed. As evidenced by the bowl in her hands she had just finished emptying it. Paris was often reduced to tears of frustration when he became ill.

In a low voice Achilles asked the servant to leave them. She left and Achilles went to the bed, lowering himself to sit beside Paris. The shifting of the bed made Paris open his eyes, and on seeing Achilles, give a small twitch of the lips for what should have been a smile. Eager for comfort, Paris blindly reached for his husband's hand which Achilles willingly gave.

Setting the amphora of nectar aside for the moment, Achilles leant over his husband to lovingly stroke his face and curls, and tenderly kiss his forehead.

"I have something for you," the Myrmidon told him.

"What is it?" Paris asked, voice rough.

"Do you want some water?" Achilles inquired first. Paris nodded and Achilles poured some fresh spring water into a goblet, glad for anything Paris accepted. Then he helped Paris sit up and held the goblet while the Trojan drank. Once done, he put the goblet back on the table beside the bed.

"What I have is hopefully the divine cure we have been praying for," Achilles answered the previous question.

He took up the amphora and opened it, waving it under Paris' nose to see if he showed any reaction. Paris barely dared breath, so accustomed now to find any smell offensive to his senses. But it seemed that they had finally found something which didn't set him off.

"Do you like it?" Achilles asked.

Surprised at his own reaction, Paris reluctantly nodded.

"Try some," the Myrmidon encouraged. Taking a small swallow offered directly from the container, he found that he liked it immediately and wanted more. But Achilles withdrew the amphora. "He said to give you only a little. I'll put some over your food as well so that you can finally eat."

"Who gave it to you?" Paris questioned, licking his lips to catch the last of the sweet taste.

"Ares. It is a gift from him, Apollo, and Hera."

Paris sat up against the bed's headboard, eyes intent on his husband. Of course the absence of his own champion's name had not escaped his attention but Achilles refused to meet his gaze and busied himself with the pottery on the table instead.

"Would you like to eat something now?" Achilles asked in an attempt to change the topic. The crease in Paris' brow told him that he was not successful.

"I think I can handle some dry bread," Paris answered anyway and the Myrmidon eagerly stood to relay the wish to the female servant who was waiting in the sitting room. The relief on his face told its own story and not much later gossip of the prince-consort's miraculous recovery would spread through the palace until it reached the rest of the people.

"Tell me," Paris demanded on Achilles' return.

His husband sighed, seeing himself defeated as he had never been on the battle field. "Ares told me of certain events on Olympus," he began and then proceeded to tell Paris an abridged version, but the Trojan did not believe him so readily and demanded all until his husband gave in and delivered the entire terrible news.

Paris took it all in, eyes widening in shock when he learnt that he carried some of Ares' powers, but what Achilles judged the hardest blow, that Paris could not keep his gift of fertility, did not cause the reaction he had expected. Paris felt merely numb.

It was a strange thing. Many times Paris had cursed his "gift" when the priests in Troy forbid him to practice archery, or when his father or older brother sent him back to the temple while he wanted to grapple, tease, and love like other young men his age. Now he bore the fruit of it, the child which was to remain their only one.

Carefully, Achilles lifted his hand and combed it through Paris' curls.

"Paris?" he inquired. Paris lifted thoughtful, but also sad, eyes to his warrior.

"There was a time when I would have been glad to lose that gift." He sighed. "Now I do not know anymore."

Paris rubbed his hand over his belly. The child had grown in the past weeks and he was slowly beginning to show. Achilles joined his caresses.

"Ares has promised our child his protection. Our son will survive."

"That, at least, is some good news."

They heard a knock on the door and Achilles gave Paris a kiss on the forehead before rising to open it. The servant had come with food, and not only bread as Achilles had asked, but also soup, fruit, and meat. He raised a questioning eyebrow and the servant blushed.

"The cook said the soup was easily digestible. The rest is for you, my king, as you have not eaten yet today," she explained.

Achilles gave her a nod of thanks and took the large plate off her hands. The servant left. The king served the food first to his husband, adding some nectar as Ares had instructed, and made sure Paris actually started eating before turning his attention to his own food. For the first time in days Paris was able to eat, and his hunger even increased after the first few bites until he had eaten all the kitchens had prepared for him and he lay back to sleep. Achilles meant to watch over him but with his concerns eased, he slipped into dreams as well.

Paris' miraculous recovery was the subject of many a thankful prayer to the Olympians. The first time Paris returned to the dinner table with his husband, Diomedes was in attendance. The king greeted him with a smile and, to Paris' relief, had indeed received some news from Odysseus. Several days before Agamemnon's demise, the Ithacan had sent a messenger to Diomedes. He informed him that he was returning to Ithaca to make ready for war. After that, Diomedes had not heard from him again, but Argos' king felt certain that Odysseus was well.

His worry about the Ithacan King lessened, the Trojan soon had other things on his mind: the temple's remodeling was still ongoing and demanded his attention. Besides this, his body was changing more and more. Paris took to wearing loose clothing to conceal his figure but there came a time when his husband at last realized the change.

Of course Achilles had noted differences before: spots which before had not been overly sensitive now drove Paris wild. And as the warrior king eagerly took advantage of these weaknesses, it was only a matter of time until he found out more. Achilles' hands frequently started wandering when they lay down to sleep.

Paris had taken to wearing sleeping clothes to bed, claiming to suffer from sudden bouts of coldness during the night. But one evening, when his husband's hands stroked over his skin, leaving trails of heat behind and exciting him, Paris gave in, his own desire taking precedence. He lifted the hem of his sleep tunic to his waist and guided Achilles' hands beneath it to show his agreement.

Hungrily Achilles kissed him, devouring him to a point until Paris broke the kiss to take in a deep breath of air. Achilles' hands briefly stroked his inner thighs, then the warrior wrapped his strong arms around Paris' upper body while raining kisses down Paris' neck. Achilles went to take off his husband's sleep tunic completely, but the Trojan captured his hands before they could do so.

"Please … do you mind if I leave this on?" he asked, not daring to look him in the eye.

Achilles frowned with worry. "Why? Are you alright? What is there to be ashamed of?" His hands stroked over Paris' collarbone but once again Paris stopped him before he could touch his chest.

"Tell me Paris, what it is you think you cannot show your husband. I know already how sensitive you are there. And my touch has always pleased you. Do you not wish to enjoy my lips closing around your nipples, suckling while you shudder with sensation? Now it is I who tastes you like that, in a few months' time it shall be my son to do this in search of nourishments."

He must have hit a nerve for a flash of emotion, too quick for Achilles to identify, was briefly visible on Paris' face.

"Is that it? Are you ashamed to offer your husband what is meant for our child?"

"No, that is not it. But … I have changed there, too."

Paris would neither elaborate nor look at Achilles. But this time when Achilles loosened the knots at the shoulders his consort did not hinder him. He lowered the material to bunch at Paris' waist and immediately saw what his husband was referring to: dusky nipples which had previously been set on a flat chest, were now the peak of small swellings. Achilles would not immediately have called them breasts, save maybe those of an adolescent girl, but he knew they would in fact turn into those fabled soft mounds of flesh which usually characterized a woman and which men so enjoyed fondling.

"Do they hurt?" Achilles inquired, curious and concerned, while he cupped one still quite small swell with a hand.

"They ache sometimes, yes. I have heard that women get that feeling later in their pregnancy but I have had it almost from the beginning."

"Because you do not have breasts like they do. Yours have to grow first," Achilles explained.

Fascinated, the warrior leant closer. His lips closed around one teat while his eyes watched intently for a reaction. It was instantaneous: Paris gasped and threw his head back, his hands came up to grasp and dig into Achilles' upper arms. By the time his husband released him, Paris was breathless and hard. With some apprehension he inquired:

"You are not disturbed by them? Even if they grow more?"

Achilles chucked and his warm breath tickled Paris' erect nipple. "You do not realize how people see you, do you? You are beautiful. And when your body adjusts to the pregnancy, you will look even more the image of Hermaphroditos than you do now. You could never be anything but perfect."

Paris blushed. His husband gave his chest one last affectionate kiss before removing the prince's night attire which lay bunched round his waist. Then he strove to drive all further doubts from Paris' mind.

* * *

_I was discussing the pros and cons of Paris growing breasts with a friend, when she stumbled across an article saying that it was actually possible for men to breastfeed (yes, normal men, not Hermaphroditoses)_._ Following that, I read up on the very interesting phenomena of male lactation and the rest, as they say, was history._

**Chapter 20: Fulfillment of a Prophecy**

Paris gives birth and we're nearing the end.

* * *

_**Thank you for reading. Comments are much appreciated.**_


	20. Fulfillment of a Prophecy

_Thanks go to my beta Litrouke__._

* * *

**Chapter 20: Fulfillment of a Prophecy**

Paris woke up in discomfort. The bedroom was dark and Achilles was breathing softly next to him. He held his breath as his stomach cramped, the reason why he had woken in the first place. He had experienced some pains before and been told that they were signs of the imminent birth.

After the pain had passed, Paris forced his body to move, wriggling legs and feet he could hardly see over the top of his swollen body. He yawned and looked over at Achilles. Wishing to go back to sleep, he pulled up the covers which had slipped down and closed his eyes. But then another cramp wracked his body. He groaned and once more held his breath.

"Breathe through it," a voice instructed. Paris startled, tensed, and sat up as quickly as he could, which was far slower than he would have wanted.

At the foot of their bed stood a person, and in the darkness Paris could not tell if it was a man or a woman. They were not especially tall and had a slender figure. Paris thought he could make out a curved chest, but the chiton the person wore left his arms bare and revealed that they were quite muscular, something usually not found in a woman. The face, however, caught Paris even more off-guard. It seemed to be that of a young man but could not be described as handsome, as it was too beautiful to belong to a man.

Even in sleep, Achilles had taken note of his husband's sudden movement. Reacting on simple instinct he shot up, a dagger in his right hand, which Paris could not even imagine where it came from. His eyes quickly spied the intruder and his fist tightened around the weapon.

The visitor was not deterred and continued addressing the Trojan. "I am Hermaphroditos. I've come because it's your time. We shall go to the temple you dedicated to my mother," he said.

Achilles threw off his bewilderment first and stood, not bothering to hide the fact that he slept nude. The demigod did not blink an eye. As Paris struggled to get up, both Hermaphroditos and Achilles came to help. Despite his husband's continued assurances, he had become self-conscious about his body and thus wore clothes to bed. Achilles threw on a chiton and steadied Paris as they made their way out of the palace.

Hermaphroditos seemed to know the way to the temple very well. Aphrodite's temple had been completed some months ago and the prince-consort had received it with mixed feelings. He had always felt that he owed Aphrodite for her gift to him, but the manner of its creation, once revealed, troubled him. He had not heard from her since Sparta and assumed that she was still confined to Olympus.

As if the demigod beside him had heard his thoughts, he said: "My mother cannot be with us to help, but the Queen of Olympus promised her coming."

"Mother goddess Hera?" Paris asked in surprise.

Hermaphroditos nodded. "Indeed."

They left the palace. Outside it was not yet dawn but the beginnings of light were beginning to show at the horizon. The door guards jerked up in alarm and Achilles waved them off, ordering them something in a quiet voice so that Paris could not overhear. Hermaphroditos and he did not stop in their tracks and a short time later Achilles had caught up with them.

The gable of the temple seemed like a dark, triangular shadow against the sky. Together they climbed up the stairs. The two acolytes who usually watched over the temple stood in front of the doors and opened them for the three. Paris had not expected them to be awake. They were both young, a man and a woman, and they had been chosen by the prince-consort personally. They looked nervous and Paris could not blame them; it was not every day that the gods showed themselves without disguise and if Hera was truly inside the temple and either she or the demigod at his side had called them awake, then he could well understand their anxiousness.

Inside the building, Hera awaited them. Like the other gods Paris had met so far she was taller than was common for humans. She had curves which Paris associated with mothers who had given birth to several children. Briefly he wondered if he would look like that even after having only the one child. A contraction put his mind to other thoughts.

"There is no need for you here, King of Phthia," the queen of the gods said to Achilles. The warrior hesitated for an instant, before giving in and nodding. Paris looked up at him with large eyes, breathing in shakily through his mouth.

Achilles took his face between his large hands. "You will be alright," he told Paris. He leant in and kissed his quivering lips. Then he stepped back, passing his husband into Hera's and Hermaphroditos' care. He left the room and the last thing he heard before the acolytes closed the doors behind him, was Paris gasping as another contraction hit him.

"You're coming along fast," Hera remarked, putting her hands on the Trojan's belly to feel the child. "Do you think you can pass water?"

Paris looked at her in confusion at the strange question but nodded.

"Do it then. Better now than later," she said. "The acolytes will help you."

After this had been done, Hera instructed Paris to walk the temple floor up and down, the female acolyte on his left and Hermaphroditos on his right to support him when necessary. Whenever a contraction hit, they were forced to stop until he had recovered. Paris already knew that births could take hours. And as the sun rose in the east, and the first rays of golden light penetrated the temple through the high windows he had a premonition that it would be the same for him.

When Patroclus at last rose from his bed, Achilles had already been waiting for several hours. The warrior king went about the palace without a thought, his mind and gaze always directed at the temple. Friends and follow warriors came throughout the day to try and keep him from worrying. Patroclus, of course, could not imagine what it was like to be unable to do anything but wait until the birth was over. Eudorus had a woman he frequented, but no children either – or at least none he knew about. So others had to say what the two men closest to the king could not.

Lunch was the most restless meal Patroclus had ever attended, save maybe for those in a war camp. Once Achilles had finished eating, he did not even wait for the others. He jumped off his seat, mumbled a quick, "I'm going to the temple now," and was out the door before anyone could stop him.

He knocked on the temple's doors and it seemed to take forever until the male acolyte opened the door.

"I'm sorry, sire, but goddess Hera has ordered that none may enter until she says otherwise," the young man recited haltingly. He was clearly nervous that Achilles might not care that there was an Olympian goddess inside and enter by force.

"How long will it take?" Achilles asked impatiently.

"I apologize, my king, but I cannot say. We will send a messenger once you are allowed to enter."

Achilles nodded hesitantly and turned away. Behind him the acolyte slowly closed the door.

"My king," an older woman greeted in a low voice as she passed him to lay a few flowers before the door. She turned to leave then, but after a look at Achilles' expression – was his worry so obvious? – she paused briefly.

"Don't worry overly much. The prince has gone through the pregnancy bravely; he will not give up at the birth. And that makes him, in my eyes, the most courageous man there has ever been."

Only now did Achilles react to her presence. With visible surprise he turned to her.

"Men do not usually realize what it is their women do for them, that every time they give birth they risk their lives. Your prince knows it now and even if it is the only child he will ever give you, treasure them both and you shall not regret it," the woman continued.

"I will," Achilles responded, and it sounded more solemn than any oath he had ever heard.

The woman nodded in satisfaction and left. With astonishment Achilles saw what he had missed on his way to the temple: the woman was not the first one to leave flowers on the stairs or the doors. At the base of the stairs an elderly woman in the company of what was most likely her granddaughter left an apple tree's branch in bloom. He almost wanted to laugh. Was it not an apple which had made his lust rise and impregnate Paris? He was thankful for the people's gesture. Though, he reminded himself, what could possibly go wrong with the mother goddess as a midwife?

He treaded down the stairs and made his way to the beach. The sea had always had a calming effect on him and his duties as king would for once have to be delayed. After all, it was not every day that a child of his was born.

As he got closer, he was confronted with an unexpected sight: his mother Thetis stood in calf-deep water collecting seashells. It had been months since he had last seen her.

"Mother," he greeted as he hurried to her side.

"Achilles. I see you are anxious?"

"Paris is in labor."

Thetis looked up in surprise. "Already? I didn't think that it had been so long since I was last here."

Painfully, Achilles was reminded of his mother's immortality. If Poseidon's realm caused her to forget time so easily, would he even see her again in this lifetime?

"It's been almost nine months exactly," he responded.

His mother sighed. "Well then, your family is almost complete. Do not worry about Paris, son. He will pull through."

She pulled out a piece of string from the folds of her dress and with nimble fingers worked the shells onto the chain. Achilles considered telling her of the trials he and Paris had been put through, and that this child would most likely be the only one. But as he looked at her distracted, ageless face, he realized that she had already as good as lost all contact to the mortal world. It was unlikely that she would come up many times in the future to see him age and ultimately die of the fragility of his body.

She finished the chain and handed it to him:

"Here, gives this to your son. He should always know of his ancestors."

Even if he would never meet them, Achilles completed silently.

Just then a voice shouting his name caught his attention. It was Patroclus who came running.

"Achilles! Come quickly! You have a son!"

Quickly he turned back to his mother. She smiled at him and said:

"Go."

Still he hesitated. "Goodbye," he finally said. Then he turned, ran up the slope to Patroclus, and past him to the temple.

Paris was lying stretched out on a long chair, sweat clinging stubbornly to the strands of his hair even while the male acolyte wiped it off his forehead. The prince did not pay attention to it. His sight was fixed on a bundle lying in his arms and only as Achilles approached did he look up to smile joyfully at his husband.

The king's heart was in his throat and he went to his knees beside Paris to take a closer look at his son. He could hardly believe how small he was, skin red and wrinkled, his head oddly shaped with brown eyes like his father. His small mouth was closed around Paris' right nipple, sucking surprisingly strongly to drink. Before this day, he had not met anyone he would give his life for from the first. Patroclus and Paris had both only slowly become dear to him. This time it was different. After a single look at his son, Achilles knew he would do anything for him.

The female acolyte passed him, carrying a basin of water in which the child had obviously been washed. Hera and Hermaphroditos observed the family's reunion expressionlessly.

"The afterbirth has passed," Hera commented. "All is well now."

"Almost all," a male voice corrected. Paris and Achilles looked up to see Ares step into the light.

Hermaphroditos cocked his head in interest, but Hera only smiled.

"I have a duty to perform and a promise to keep," the God of War explained as he approached the mortal couple with their son. First he turned to Paris.

"Zeus has ordered me to carry out his judgment and remove Aphrodite's gift of fertility."

"Will it hurt?" Paris asked with a trembling voice.

"I do not think so, no." He reached out with his palm, causing Paris to tense so much that the baby perceived it and started crying.

"Achilles, please hold him," Paris asked, already lifting their son to pass him to the king who took him gingerly. Ares bid his time.

"Wait!" Achilles interrupted before the god was able to continue. "Will Paris be able to feed?"

Again Ares paused, looking to Hera for an answer.

"He should, yes. Even males have that ability under the right circumstances. And I think in this case the circumstances are given."

Exasperated, Achilles cried: "Both I and Paris have asked our questions, and both of you have answered uncertainly. Can you give us no straight answer?"

"No, we cannot," Hera replied. "There has never been a situation like this before. Ares, continue; there is no use in delaying," she instructed him.

The God of War must have agreed with her for he quickly sat on the edge of Paris' seat and grasped his hands, his gaze piercing the prince's eyes. He did not speak and Paris lay unmoving beside him, making it impossible for Achilles to tell what was happening.

Then Ares released the Trojan who sank bank into the pillows, his body draining of tension.

"Do you feel any different?" the god asked.

"No," Paris answered.

"I have broken Aphrodite's seal of power, and its essence has returned to the gods who gave it. Your appearance will not change, for your physique was guided by the gift while you were still in your growing phase. I do not think your hips will ever become slim like those of a man, especially now that you have given birth. But who knows, I might be wrong," Ares explained.

Paris shook his head. "It is not important."

"Then that leaves my promise," Ares said, turning his attention to the newborn in Achilles' arms. Paris almost stopped breathing as the god's large hand touched his child's head. Briefly, the baby's eyes seemed to focus on Ares.

"My power… a gift to ensure your life."

Then he retracted his hand. To Achilles he said: "He will need a good strong name. I'm sure you will find an appropriate one."

Then Ares went to join Hera and Hermaphroditos. "I believe you are done?" he asked.

Hera nodded. "We are."

"Then let us return to Olympus."

The gods gave the mortals a final nod. Ares disappeared almost instantly. Hera had linked her arm with Hermaphroditos and together they dissipated slowly like mist, until not a trace remained.

* * *

_**Chapter 21: The Three Visitors**_

In the last chapter a surprise guest makes an appearance, Paris and Achilles have a serious talk, and it ends with a tiny crossover.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading. Comments are always appreciated. I also welcome constructive criticism, as I know that there is a lot of room for improvement in this story, and I assure you that I will consider any such comments when I rewrite FOB (on this, I may say more in a final author's note in the last chapter).**_


	21. The Three Visitors

_My biggest thanks goes to Litrouke. She was my beta for this story from chapter 5 on until the end, and her comments were always helpful and greatly contributed to Forging of Bonds. Thank you._

* * *

**Chapter 21: The Three Visitors**

Slowly, Paris walked up and down the nursery, bouncing Neoptolemus in his arms to soothe the crying child. He had already fed him, the servants had changed him, and still the child cried. The nursemaid's suspicion that he was teething had been confirmed with a look at the baby's gums. Paris had been surprised that Neoptolemus was teething at such an early age – four months – while Achilles had proudly declared it a sign of strength.

Before Neoptolemus' birth, Paris had not been able to even imagine how much work a small child was. But, as opposed to women of common birth, he had the advantage of servants helping him. He fed his son himself as he believed that if he wasn't meant to feed Neoptolemus himself, he would not be capable of it.

Finally the boy quieted. The door opened and Melva, the nursemaid, entered. She was only a year older than Paris and unmarried, but she was kind and had plenty of experience with younger sisters and brothers she had helped raise. Patroclus tended to stutter when he met her, which amused Paris greatly.

"My lord," she said, "If you like I can take over now. Little Neoptolemus seems to have calmed and will likely go to sleep soon. Besides, it seems that visitors have arrived and there's much excitement; if you would like to have a look, they're in the hall with the king."

Paris smiled at her gratefully. "Thank you, Melva, I think I will."

He laid his son on his cot while Melva sat down in a nearby chair with some sewing to pass the time.

He went into the hall through a smaller side door as not to disturb his husband if he was in an important meeting. But when he caught sight of the man speaking with Achilles, he gasped loudly.

"Odysseus!"

The man turned towards him and revealed that it was indeed the Ithacan king.

"Prince Paris," Odysseus smiled, bowing his head almost formally, if it hadn't been for the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Achilles laughed. "He has been impatient for news about you ever since we prepared for battle with Agamemnon and couldn't find out where you were. Not even the message from Diomedes could reassure him completely."

Paris ignored his husband, rushing to the Ithacan instead and embracing him.

Achilles raised an eyebrow. "One would think he was dearer to you than your own husband."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Paris reprimanded. "You did not go missing for months without anyone knowing where you are." Giving Odysseus an accusing look, he demanded: "Where were you?"

Odysseus chuckled. "Why do I get the feeling that you have changed since I last saw you?"

Paris looked at him in confusion, unsure what he meant. Achilles answered for him: "He's spent a lot of time on the training fields with Patroclus, who is probably revising all of the education he got in Troy." But he was smiling as he said it.

Paris smirked. "The priests would be appalled."

Odysseus laughed loudly. "And here I thought having a child would make you more responsible not less."

The prince frowned a little. "I take my responsibilities as seriously as ever. But I see no reason to limit myself and keep to the house."

"Achilles hinted that a lot has happened. But I'm still dirty from the road, we came on horse this time. So if I may still call myself an old friend of this house, then I would ask for a bath and some refreshments over which we can exchange news."

"A good idea," Achilles agreed. "I'll arrange for some food while Paris shows you to the guest quarters and the baths."

"Come, Odysseus." Paris beckoned the king to follow. Walking through the corridors, the Trojan assured him with a smile: "I'll wait until later to pester you."

"And I appreciate it," Odysseus replied, returning the smile. He studied the prince. "You look happy."

Paris stopped in mid-step. He had not asked himself recently whether he was content and his forehead wrinkled as he thought about it.

"Now you're thinking too much," Odysseus commented. "I've been told that I'm a good listener. I'm sure we will find some time to talk, without Achilles if need be. Just tell me right now, do I need to fight him for your honor after all?"

The Trojan chuckled. "I don't think that will be necessary. In fact, I may even have found ways to tame the lion already."

"That's good to hear."

Paris showed him to a guest room and instructed the servants to fill a bath for the king. After the Ithacan had been washed and groomed to his satisfaction, he was led to the dining hall where Achilles, Patroclus, and Paris were already waiting for him.

"Let me have some wine first before I start telling my story."

Patroclus was the first to grasp the amphora of watered wine and filled Odysseus' cup. The Ithacan king seemed to enjoy the eager looks on his hosts' faces; he drank the first cup slowly with relish, then asked for a refill.

"Now, where do I start?" he wondered aloud.

"When Achilles and I left Messenia!" Paris immediately replied.

Odysseus smiled smugly. Penelope always told him that he was a good storyteller, but that he reveled too much in his audience's impatience.

"Very well," he agreed. "We stayed another two days in Messenia to rest. I visited the new king-" Achilles snorted disparagingly and Odysseus gave him an understanding look. "-who agreed to give us an escort. He didn't particularly care about me as much as what Agamemnon and Menelaus might think of his behavior towards their allies. So our return to Sparta was undisturbed, though I can honestly say that I have never before traveled with a more monosyllabic and hostile group.

"Menelaus had in the meantime returned and was quite eager to have me as his guest. At first, not suspecting anything to be wrong, I accepted, all the while planning to load our ship and sail to Argos in a few days. But the loading did not go without incident – in fact, nothing went without some kind of accident or strange occurrence: our water supply ended up foul, items disappeared, and local folk who initially offered to help us did not show up. Menelaus suddenly seemed to be everywhere, when before he could hardly get off his backside, always telling me that I was welcome to stay another few days, and then another few."

Patroclus and Paris looked at Odysseus in perplexity, shaking their heads at the strange behavior. Achilles had a thoughtful look on his face. Odysseus continued: "I finally noticed that he was trying to make me stay for as long as possible. But for what reason? And then there was the amount of messengers going to and coming from Agamemnon in Mycenae. Obviously they were planning something. Finally I overheard one such messenger Agamemnon had sent to his brother. Imagine my surprise when I heard that Agamemnon wanted to have me observed by spies, and, if necessary, killed if I proved too great a risk for their plans.

"At that point, I still didn't understand the situation. But I knew that I was in a dangerous position, so I ordered my men to take the ship to Ithaca that very night, while I disguised myself and bought horses to ride to Mycenae myself." To Paris, Odysseus said: "Phytheas accompanied me and proved himself quite useful." The Trojan smiled proudly.

"We entered the city where I had to ensure that nobody recognized me and that Agamemnon would never catch sight of me. Phytheas managed to get into the palace, where he gleaned information while I collected news outside of it. Diomedes was also in the city for a few days."

Paris frowned. "Diomedes was here a few months ago and said that he had not seen you, only received a message."

Odysseus laughed. "He didn't recognize me! I felt sure he had, but I spoke to him later and he admitted that actually he hadn't. I have no idea where his head was, for it certainly wasn't on his surroundings! No matter. I was finally able to put the pieces together: Agamemnon had set plans in motion to ensure that you," he nodded to Achilles, "would never be crowned king. When those plans didn't work and war threatened to break out, he feared that I would come to your aid. And he would rather have me murdered than on his enemies' side. That's when I decided that I had to prepare Ithaca for any situation and sent two messengers: one to Diomedes, whom I trusted enough to tell him of my plans, and one to Phthia to tell you that I would fight on your side."

Achilles' eyebrows rose to his hairline. "We never received any message from you!"

Odysseus nodded grimly. "I can't say what happened to the man I sent. Perhaps bandits, or maybe Agamemnon's spies caught him, but obviously he never arrived."

"It wasn't Phytheas, was it?" Paris demanded worriedly.

The Ithacan denied. "No, it wasn't him. In fact, Phytheas is here with me today, taking his meal with the men. I'm sure you'll see him later."

Paris smiled mischievously. "Maybe we will train our sword play together," he teased.

Odysseus rolled his eyes. To Achilles he said: "If they do, you had better keep an eye on them. Now tell me what news you have!"

Achilles told him his side of the events after he had returned to Phthia. Then Paris took over and revealed the origins of his gift, and the gods' numerous interferences.

The king gazed at him with some wonder. "Then you are blessed indeed," he commented.

"I was," Paris replied, his expression suggesting that he did feel the loss of his gift after all. Odysseus decided to speak to him about this later, but noted the thoughtful look Achilles gave his husband.

The opportunity arose that afternoon. Achilles was meeting his counselors, so Odysseus asked Paris to see their son. Had it been any other man, he would most certainly have been met with a lack of understanding, but it was no secret that Odysseus loved his wife Penelope and his son Telemachus. He was also not known to have ever lain with a woman – or man – since his marriage, or to have tried to seduce someone. Paris had kept his silence about Odysseus' drunken attempt to kiss him, and the anger he had felt back then had long since disappeared.

Silently, they entered the nursery, where Melva sat next to the baby's bed and sewed. On their entry, she rose to her feet and bowed to them, though she did throw a bewildered look at Odysseus.

"Do not worry, Melva," Paris reassured her. "This is Odysseus, King of Ithaca. He would merely like to see Neoptolemus, then we will leave you alone."

"Of course, my prince. Though I believe that Neoptolemus is still asleep," she said, taking a quick look at the child.

Odysseus smiled gently. "Don't worry, we won't wake him up. I'll be here for a few more days, so there will be plenty of opportunities at a later time."

The Ithacan studied the child and commented: "He seems to have inherited some of Achilles' features. It will become clearer as he ages."

"He has my eyes though," Paris replied absent-mindedly, trying to see his son more objectively without success.

"Let's go outside," Odysseus suggested, having looked his fill. Paris agreed, nodded to the nursemaid, and led the king to the garden. They sat down next to each other in the shade of an orange tree. There was no breeze, and in the sun it would quickly become unbearable.

"Tell me what's on your mind," the older man said.

"I'm not sure what it is exactly," Paris hedged.

"Do you miss your gift?"

"I'm not used to not having it. Sometimes I think I _should_ miss it, but there are times when I'm glad that I'm finally 'normal'. Of course I'm still treated differently. But when I train with Patroclus, I can almost pretend that I'm as much of a man as he is."

"The way I see it, you feel guilty for being glad to be rid of the gift. One could argue that you have done your duty: you gave Achilles an heir. And to be frank, I cannot imagine Achilles with a whole brood of children. Though you have never been at ease with your ability, it is only natural that you would miss it now that it's gone. Have you spoken to Achilles about any of this?"

"No."

"What are you afraid of? That Achilles might not think you good enough anymore?"

Thoughtfully, Paris' fingers ripped at blades of grass. His head moved slowly from side to side as if to deny, then gave a minute nod. "Maybe," he whispered.

Odysseus leant back against the tree with an unconcerned expression and gave a small shrug.

"That could only benefit you. After all, what would happen if Achilles decided that he didn't want you anymore? You could pack your things on your horse and take a ship to Mykonos, where Thales would be glad to welcome you with open arms. What more could you want?"

Paris' head jerked up, disbelief at the Ithacan's callousness written all over his face. "What more could I want?" he burst out in anger. "How can you say that! What I want is for Achilles to acknowledge me as his lover, as his husband, not an object of pleasure or a soulless womb! He can't just throw me away now that he has everything!"

Odysseus leant forward. "_Did_ he throw you away?"

"Well…no, not yet. But he has never told me that he loves me either."

"Have you ever heard him say to anyone that he loves them?"

Paris thought quickly. "No," he answered.

"Then how can you tell that he doesn't love you? I suggest you talk to him before you jump to conclusions." Odysseus raised a challenging eyebrow. And only then did Paris realize that the Ithacan had set him up by rising him to anger.

"Odysseus," Paris declared, "you are the most cunning, the most devious man I know. And I'm glad to have you as my friend and ally."

Solemnly, the older man held out his hand. "And no matter how this ends, you will always be able to call me that."

Paris clasped the offered hand, then, on second thought, pressed a quick, chaste kiss on the Ithacan's bearded cheek.

"Thank you. I think I'll go look for Achilles now. His counselors will just have to make time for me."

Odysseus, though surprised by the kiss, smiled and shooed him off. Satisfied that he had done what he could, he lay back against the tree and watched Paris leave before deciding to settle down for a nap. He certainly deserved it.

* * *

Achilles stood alone in his council room, his gaze directed out of the window to the palace garden. The chamber was small enough that the sunlight it received through the window was sufficient. The only furniture in the room was a table with benches on three of its sides, leaving the fourth side open. A knock on the door made the Myrmidon turn.

"Come in," he called.

As he had almost expected, Paris entered.

"Your meeting didn't last long," the Trojan commented.

"We finished early," Achilles replied.

Paris raised an eyebrow. "Did you? I met Spiridon on my way here; he asked me to tell you that he didn't mind meeting with you tomorrow instead of today."

Achilles bowed his head in defeat with a small smile. Avoiding Achilles' proximity, Paris went to the window and threw a look outside to confirm that the room did indeed have a view of the orange tree where Odysseus had dozed off.

"I'm going to ask you a question now," Paris announced as he turned to Achilles, "and I want an answer from you." He paused until Achilles gave a nod. "What am I to you?"

Achilles did not seem surprised at the question. His eyes wandered thoughtfully over his husband. Paris waited, though not patiently and with an apprehensive feeling in his stomach, but he waited.

"My husband. The prince-consort of the Myrmidons," Achilles finally said.

"Am I permitted to stay here, to remain your consort and lover, despite the fact that I lost my gift?"

"Yes."

"Tell me why I _should_ stay."

Again Achilles hesitated. Their eyes met, each searching for something in the other.

"Because I love you," the warrior king answered. "Is that enough for you?"

Paris smiled blindingly. "More than enough." Until now almost the entire room had separated them. Closing the distance, he threw himself at Achilles, wildly pressing their lips together. His warrior caught him easily, steady on his feet as always, and returned the kiss a lot more calmly than Paris.

With tears in his eyes, the Trojan broke the kiss and begged him: "Promise me that this will not be the only time that you tell me that you love me."

"I promise. I'll tell you as often as you like," the Myrmidon vowed, sealing the promise with a small kiss.

Again Paris broke it. "And I want more training. From you."

"You only had to ask." They kissed again.

"I think Odysseus went to sleep. And Melva is watching Neoptolemus," Paris commented, nose brushing Achilles'. His hands stroked over the warrior's collar bones, then down to rub his thumbs over Achilles' nipples through the cloth of his chiton.

"I think we should move this to our bed," Achilles replied, picking up on his husband's mood.

"Why?" Paris smirked playfully. "We could do it here." He moved backwards to the wooden table, pulling the king with him, and lifted himself to sit on top of it with Achilles standing between his legs.

"Remember our first night?" The Myrmidon inquired instead.

"Very clearly."

"I want to go slow this time. And the council's table is no place for that."

* * *

Months later, Paris travelled to Troy on a black-sailed ship. He wore Myrmidon clothes, with a sword girded around his waist and a golden circlet resting on his brow, and was accompanied by Patroclus, who captained a group of Myrmidon warriors.

The prince-consort's chin never lowered in the face of his family, and his expression remained impassive as he greeted his father, his eyes ignoring the priests he knew from so long ago. Solely his brother Hector, and his wife and children, received Paris' affection, and he lovingly cuddled his niece Phaedra who had been born almost three years ago.

Before he left the city to return to Phthia, Hector stood with him on the impenetrable walls and said:

"You seem happy."

And Paris replied: "I am."

It was to be his last visit to Troy. And only after his return to Phthia did he learn that he had missed a visitor from Mykonos.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Proud of his work, the Persian painter stood aside as the young emperor and his most favored general inspected the commissioned painting. The blue-eyed man who stood at the emperor's side had long ago been accepted as the man's closest companion. What he said might as well have come from the king's own lips.

As they studied the painting, they occasionally exchanged a few words, attracting the other's attention to one point or another.

The artist's mastery of the Greek language was passable at best. Most of the requests had only reached his ears through an interpreter. The subject was not completely unknown to him: even in Babylon the legend had been told, the legend of the one man who gave birth. Like any other myth, the tale had its firm believers and critics.

The Persian was neither. He accepted the task, eager to display his skills. The emperor had complimented his work, with a single sentence only, his companion agreeing in broken Persian. Then they had returned to their native tongue and the painter could only just grasp the meaning of what they spoke.

"I'm not sure I agree with their pose," the emperor remarked.

"Why? What would you have liked different?" His companion inquired.

"He's kneeling. I cannot imagine a warrior like Achilles kneeling."

"I suppose it is to convey the wonder Achilles feels at his husband feeding their son. It's not every day that happens."

The emperor shrugged, not completely convinced. "Perhaps."

"I think the painter captured their features well. Especially Achilles'. They look reminiscent of yours."

The other man noted it with pride. It was only right after all.

"It's truly a shame Troy burnt down. I would very much liked to have seen it," his companion continued. "And it would be interesting if we knew what exactly happened to them all."

"We know Neoptolemus moved west to Epirus, which is how Achilles' blood was introduced into my line."

"That's true."

Finally the emperor handed over the painter's reward. The artist left, throwing a last look over his shoulder at the painting: a young man lay nude on a couch with a sarong beneath his hips, untied to display his male sex. His chest was swollen to milk-filled breasts and a baby sucked at one nipple while Achilles knelt beside the couch with his gaze directed upwards to watch the scene.

Whether Achilles had ever knelt for his husband or not – who could say?

* * *

_The emperor is Alexander the Great, his companion, his friend and lover Hephaistion. Alexander claimed to be a descendant of Achilles through Neoptolemus on his mother's side, who came from Epirus. As for who burned Troy - I'll leave that to your imagination._

_Personal Author's note: __I'd like to thank everyone who stayed with me for such a long time as 2008, and everybody who came later and took the time to get as far as the end._

_The appendices will be posted on my lifejournal (link in my profile). As it involves a lot of graphics and links, this site isn't the place for it.** NEW: If you'd like Forging of Bonds as pdf, the link is in my profile.**  
_

_Again, thank you to everyone who read Forging of Bonds, everyone who commented, and everyone who encouraged me to complete this story. Thank you for (so far) 170 comments and over 90 favs. I hope I'll see some of you around. Now it's your turn to give me your thoughts on this :)  
_


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